


Harley Quinn Is Not A Good Role Model

by WhiskerBiscuit



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Black Hat Knows All, Eventual Romance, Flug Has OCD, Flug is a psychiatrist, Graphic violence in later chapters, M/M, Slightly More Confident Flug, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome (More Like Harley Quinn Syndrome Am I Right), The Other Three Are Patients, asylum AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskerBiscuit/pseuds/WhiskerBiscuit
Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world's most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he's ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.Black Hat has other ideas.Based on zwagyzonk's AU on tumblr.





	1. Daily Dose of Flug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [zwagyzonk's Asylum AU](https://zwagyzonk.tumblr.com/tagged/asylum-au). Fascinating stuff! Title may be subject to change.

_In concurrence with diagnosis, the following are to be prescribed to Patient #505:_

_• Compazine – for nausea: taken orally; two to three times daily; side effects may include dizziness, drowsiness, blurred vision, or dry mouth  
• Vicodin – for severe pain relief: taken orally; twice a day with food or drink; side effects may include nausea, dizziness, drowsiness, or constipation_

_Recommended period of prescription is two months. Period of prescription may be subject to change. Dosage may be subject to change._

_Authorized Psychiatrist Signature: Dr. Flug Slys M. D._

Dr. Flug placed the last dot of his signature on the prescription order and tapped the pen against the edge of his desk. He had already read the document three times before signing, but one more time couldn’t hurt. 

_Patient ID: #505 Name: Unknown Species: Bear Sex: Male_

_Reason for Admittance: Severe depression and anxiety associated with physical disability and emotional abuse_

_Tap, tap, tap._ Flug continued through the rest of the report, mouthing along with every word he read under his bag. He had practically memorized the whole thing by now, but he refused to scan or skip through anything. His patient deserved the utmost care.

He owed 505 that much, at the very least.

At the end of it, the doctor looked over his signature one time for validity. Satisfied in his work, Flug opened the door of his office and headed down the hall to the nurse’s station. Each floor had one; the mental institution he worked for, the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane (say that five times fast) was immense, immaculate, and important. It was well known for being prepared for anything.

The nurse on duty gave him a meek smile, her name tag reflecting “Susie” by the bright fluorescent lights above. Flug didn’t interact much with her – there were so many staff members here after all – but he knew an introvert when he saw one. They had an understanding of each other, based on quiet work shifts and generic small talk.

The doctor slid his prescription request through the opening in the glass window. “I’ve got a, an order to fill out. Can you send it down to pharmacy?”

“Sure thing,” Susie nodded. Her face softened as she read the name on the file. “How’s Patient 505 doing?”

“Eh, depends on how you look at it, I suppose.” Flug brought his hands up in a balancing motion. “He just came out of surgery a few hours ago so he’ll be having trouble for a while. But,” he paused, and smiling tilt spread along his goggles. “Long-term, I think this will really help with his progress.”

“Oh, that’s good,” the nurse was typing away at her monitor, glancing at the report every so often. “He’s so sweet to all of the nurses. He certainly deserves the best.”

“Ah, yep.” Flug was already scooting his way back to his office. “Well, I’ll be heading back now. Thanks.”

“Of course Doctor, I know how busy you get. Don’t forget about your lunch break.”

“That only happened one…a few times.” He adjusted his paper bag self-consciously and gave a sheepish wave before turning around. _Honestly_ , he thought, _work through lunch four times and everyone gets on your case about it._ His face burned.

After entering his office and closing the door – maybe just a tad too quickly – Flug took a moment to compose himself. He straightened his lab coat, brushed the wrinkles out of his pants, and took off his long yellow gloves to apply a squirt of hand sanitizer from the bottle on the desk. He rubbed his hands until the gel soaked in completely, then meticulously put the gloves back on, one finger at a time. The routine ended after he checked his headwear for signs of tearing and smoothed out every crinkle.

It was funny, sometimes, how he worked with the world’s most unstable people when he himself was maybe one electron short of a stable element.

With a sigh, the doctor plopped back into his swivel chair and pulled up his business email. There were no new messages, so he clicked on one from two days prior. It was an invitation from the European Federation of Psychologists’ Associations about a convention being held in Austria in two months. They wanted him to be a key speaker.

Dr. Flug was not a natural leader, or a skilled communicator, or a genius making the next big psychological breakthrough. Hell, he wasn’t even the head of the institute he was employed for. But the fact of the matter was that he was still an employee of one of the most respected establishments of correctional psychology in the modern era, and every single patient he’d worked with had successfully been integrated back into their respective societies after serving their sentence, no relapses or repeat offenses whatsoever. It was a feat unmatched by most, regardless of country or institute, and people had been taking notice of it for a good while now.

Important people.

So EPPA wanted him to share his secrets, wanted him to demonstrate his success so that others could replicate it. Never mind the fact that he was currently with an institute in Guerrero, Mexico and would have to travel that far in such short notice. Never mind the fact that he had patients who needed him, who were used to routine just as much as he, and who, when pressed, could still be very, very dangerous.

Never mind the fact that he himself honestly couldn’t explain how he had done it. 

But none of that mattered to them. They had invited him to speak, to be a someone among many other someones, and he knew it would help his credibility immensely. So he contemplated the message, wrote and rewrote drafts of his response, and after an hour of deliberation finally had something he convinced himself was professional yet personable. He sent it before he could change his mind again.

Flug took a deep breath and touched the rim of his paper bag. It wasn’t a big deal, really. He just had to write a convincing speech, practice said speech, book a plane and hotel for that weekend – thank god EPPA was willing to cover the costs – and figure out some way to keep his patients stable while he was away. Within two months. On top of his already heavy workload.

Hoo boy.

Speaking of the devil tends to make him appear, and the doctor’s office phone rang just in time to snap him out of his growing anxiety and turn it into a heart attack instead.

“Gah!” Flug pin-wheeled as his chair creaked backwards, threatening to tumble. He only managed to catch himself when one sneaker hooked under the desk and kept him awkwardly there. With some clumsy maneuvering he was vertical in his seat again, and answered the call with an exasperated “hello?”

“Oh Dr. Slys thank goodness, please can you come to Floor 5? Patient #243 is having an episode and we can’t calm her down!”

 _Well crap_. The doctor jumped hastily from his chair and almost ran with the phone still in his hand. “O-of course, sir, I’ll be right there!” He hung up and dashed out the door and down the hall, past the startled Nurse Susie straight to the elevator. He jabbed the ‘up’ button and twitched his fingers against his side as it rumbled down. With a ding the doors opened and he rushed inside, hitting the lit ‘5’ on the console and repeatedly smacking at the button to close the doors until it happened.

Floor 5 was reserved for patients who were either struggling with reality or were a hazard to themselves and others. Most of the staff had affectionately dubbed it as the “Asylum Floor” when in the break room or in one-on-one chats, but no one dared utter it in front of the patients or the general public. Regardless, there was a certain caution by those required to go there for anything more than a scheduled check-up.

Flug ran past padded cells and surprised nurses like a man fleeing a bull.

He finally arrived at one cell halfway down the hallway, with a whiteboard marking it as #243 with a little smiley face beside it. Smacking and shrieking came from within in repeat. There was an intern standing in front of the locked door, looking hopelessly haggard and lost. He practically grabbed Flug by the shoulders as the doctor skidded to a halt.

“Thank god you’re here, Doctor! She hasn’t stopped hitting the walls!” The intern was shaking both of them. Flug pulled out of his grip and glanced over him. Simple blue scrubs with a white apron – standard intern uniform. Nametag read Martin. Tanned skin. Thick curly black hair and wide eyes. Probably new.

“What’s the situation?” He peered into the glass window; the patient was ramming herself shoulder-first into a cushioned wall, struggling against her straitjacket. She was screaming.

“Oh she, she didn’t want to take her medication and when I tried to get her to open her mouth–”

“You d-don’t force – why would you – I’m going in there. Lock the door behind me.”

“But Doctor–!”

“That’s an order!” He didn’t wait for Martin’s response before unlocking the entrance and slipping in. There was a quick chink behind him that told Flug the intern could at least follow orders. He focused on the young woman who was still screaming and spitting. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Dementia?”

The screaming didn’t stop but his patient whirled his way, long red hair spread like a skirt around her. Her lips curled in a snarl as she yelled and charged him. Flug braced himself against the closed door and pushed off to the left at the last second, ducking past Dementia as she continued. She didn’t even try to come to a stop, just whacked into the door and twirled again. They circled each other a moment.

With a hiss the girl launched herself again, but the doctor was ready. He sidestepped and the instant she lost balance was the instant he wrapped his arms around her waist and knocked her onto the floor, half on top of her. Dementia spit and cursed nonsense but Flug refused to give her a chance to maneuver herself.

“Dementia, it’s okay, it’s just me, it’s Flug! You’re not in danger, calm down. You can do it.” His voice was loud to reach over her cries at first, then lowered as the sounds died down. His patient slowly stopped kicking and screaming, but her head still thrashed about and Flug knew better than to let go yet; he’d been bit before.

After a moment Dementia stopped moving completely, exhaustion making her pant with her head turned to the side and her messy hair covering her face. Her captor took one arm off and waited for a response. Nothing.

“You with me?”

“…Sí. Estoy aquí.”

“Ah,” Flug sat up. “Bueno, Bueno. ¿Cómo estás hoy? ¿Estás bien?”

“Sí…bien. Gracias, Señor.” Dementia blew red bangs out of her face and side-eyed him. “Doctor.”

“Dementia. Glad to have you back. I missed you.”

“Mm. Get off me. You’re too heavy.” He complied and she rolled into a sitting position effortlessly despite her attire. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” Flug pulled on his bag, knocked slightly askew in the scuffle. His patient wrinkled her nose.

“I dunno, I was...” she trailed off and her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Some idiota was screwing with me!”

“He has a name, Dementia.” 

“So do I, Flug, and you don’t see him using it.” She sneered at the door, where a pair of nervous eyes ducked out of sight. Her doctor rubbed his arm – it felt bruised, probably from hitting the floor so hard.

“That’s true, I’ll talk to him, but he told me you were refusing your medication. We had an agreement about that.”

Dementia shrugged, unapologetic. “I wasn’t refusing, just having some fun. You shoulda been here to see his face.” She grinned, revealing pointed teeth. “New meat’s so funny!”

Flug had a good idea where this was going. “You pretended you didn’t speak Spanish. Or English.”

“Damn right! Pretty good act too, got him all flustered. They never know what to do when the crazies are spouting some nonsense language.” The girl’s giggles were borderline maniacal and then stopped abruptly. A frown snaked across her face. “But then he had to go and ruin it. Doesn’t he know he can’t touch us without a reason?”

“I restrain you all the time.”

“Well yeah,” a hair flip, “but you have a reason. And I like you. You’re one of us.”

Flug was very happy the cameras didn’t record sound in these rooms. “No, I’m your doctor. You’re here on charges of vandalism, larceny, and attempted murder. There’s a difference.”

“Suuuuuure. Keep telling yourself that. Hey! Maybe you can repeat it at night to fall asleep instead of counting sheep, how does that sound?” The giggles came back full force and Dementia stuck out her tongue. “Just say, ‘I am better than these losers. I’m not just here because it’s where I belong. I –”

“Okay, that’s enough. I think we’re done here.” The doctor stretched and winced. He straightened out his lab coat. “It’s been fun to wrestle, Dementia, but that honestly wasn’t on my schedule for another three days. I’ve had my fill.”

“Well that’s too bad, I could always go another round.” She waggled her eyebrows at him but huffed when he didn’t give the reaction she was fishing for. “You’re no fun. I hope you fall down the stairs.”

“You don’t mean that.” Flug walked to the door and waited for Martin the Intern to hurry up and unlock it.

“Yes I do, I mean everything. And I mean it that you’re one of us. Can’t deny fate, Señorrrr.” Dementia rolled the last ‘r’ hard, tumbling onto her back, feet in the air. “Someday destiny will come knocking, mi amigo. Just you wait.”

“Mhm. Let me know when you hear it.” The intern came through and Flug was out. He glanced back to see his patient pretending to ride a bike, legs rotating in the air. His face went soft for just a moment under his mask.

It became hard again when he turned to a very fidgety Martin, who at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself. 

“You are aware of our policy regarding patients on this floor, correct?”

“Yes sir…”

“Repeat it to me.”

“Attending staff are not to touch the patient in any way without permission unless no other option is available and the patient is at risk of hurting themselves or others.”

“Exactly. So what was that?”

“I…she wasn’t taking her medication…”

Flug gritted his teeth, irritated. “She was trying to get you to crack. It worked. If you’re going to be here, you need to adhere to the rules we have in place. It’s what keeps us in top shape and without incident. What you did today was unprofessional and dangerous. You don’t know the patient’s personal history. You don’t know what could set her off. If she’s being uncooperative, you ask for assistance. Do I make myself clear?”

“I, I…”

“ _Do I make myself clear?_ ”

“Perfectly, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“You bet your goddamn job it won’t. Now get out of here. I’ll take care of the patient’s medication.”

The intern nodded, flush with red embarrassment, and hurried out swiftly. Flug shook his head, mumbling German, Spanish and English disappointment and grabbing Dementia’s prescription, left forgotten on a tray by the door. 

Dementia took it with nothing more to say to him.

Coming back to his office was even more of a relief than usual, but the doctor didn’t give himself time to relax. He straightened his lab coat, brushed the wrinkles out of his pants, and took off his long yellow gloves to apply another squirt of hand sanitizer. He rubbed his hands until the gel soaked in completely, then meticulously put the gloves back on, one finger at a time.

The bag was checked last as always, and Flug felt his body loosen more as each crease was worked out. By the time his headwear was perfectly uniform again, he was already slumping into the swivel chair again. A click, a browser pop-up, and an email login.

There was a new message from the head director.

Flug arched an eyebrow as he opened the message. He clasped his hands together as he read, and the eyebrows shot higher and higher.

_Dr. Slys,_

_This is to inform you that we will be bringing in a new patient who is to be placed on Floor 5. He is scheduled to arrive tomorrow at 14:00, and we formally ask you to join us at his orientation. You have an unparalleled success rate in the rehabilitation of patients, and we hope you will consider becoming his primary psychiatrist. This incoming patient is a high-profile criminal, and his case file is attached below. Please let us know as soon as possible if you are available for the orientation if not the case itself. We can discuss the details and any questions you may have tomorrow after the patient’s orientation._

_Respectfully,_  
_Dr. Lauren Rorschach, Head Director,  
Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane_

The file was where the director claimed it was, but Flug didn’t open it yet. Instead he tapped a spare pen against the keyboard, digesting this new information.

It was pretty apparent why he’d been asked, beyond the reason given in the email. The doctor was currently only treating two patients – 505 and Dementia. He usually took three or four at a time, but his third had just been released a week ago, expected to make a full recovery in the reintegration of society. This request would have been fine if he hadn’t just been asked to go to that damned EPPA convention so soon.

But two months were never enough to even make a dent in the psyche of a Floor 5 patient. Someone new probably wouldn’t care if he was gone for a weekend, and it was maybe just one more thing to ask a few nurses to watch this incoming patient along with Dementia. 

No, it really wasn’t a bad idea to add another case. He could use the money anyway.

Mind made up, Flug clicked curiously at the case file download. It was fairly barebones – understandable, he wasn’t an authorized doctor for the patient yet – but what caught his attention was one thing. Well, two when he really read it.

The first: criminal charges higher than nearly any Flug had ever personally seen. None of it petty either; forgery, identity theft, no less than twenty-five successful robberies, and murder of all three degrees. The list ended with a ‘remaining charges confidential’.

Jesus.

The second: just like 505, there was no known name for the patient. Unlike 505, who ended up being referred to just by his patient ID, this patient had an alias.

_Black Hat_

Flug’s stomach turned. He had the feeling it would be a long day tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably stop getting so invested in AUs, dang it.
> 
> A few things: this world will mirror the show in that there are kooky, zany characters (both physically and how they dress) and nobody really bats an eye. Flug wears his masks for his own reasons, but the staff is thinking "eh, we've seen weirder"
> 
> Also, in this story I'm pretending Flug is a native to Germany and fluent in German, English, Spanish, and knows a little bit of Russian. Demencia is Hispanic and is fluent in both Spanish and English. She just likes to pretend she's not.
> 
> Finally, I have some vague ideas of where this is going to go but nothing is set in concrete, including the title. I won't be writing anything sexually explicit, just telling you now. Don't want people waiting for something like that only to be disappointed.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading :)


	2. The Doctor Didn't Order This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Hat arrives. It's an unconventional introduction, in more ways than one.

Ironically, the next day happened to be one of Flug’s idler in terms of schedule. He had one morning check-in with a patient on floor 3 whose primary psychiatrist was out sick, several reports due by noon (which he had already finished a long while ago), and so by 13:40 he was already waiting by the director’s office on the first floor. 

The doctor checked his watch for the umpteenth time and counted the seconds going round. He dropped his arm and began bouncing on the balls of his feet. There was a quick run-through of his bag for crinkles. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the folds of his coat. He looked at his watch again – 13:41.

There was a shout from outside.

Flug startled and flitted to the nearest window facing the front of the building. He peered out and his heart jumped. There were ten of the institute’s security team, along with easily fifteen or so armed guards from Interpol. They surrounded an armored truck parked several feet from the entrance. The truck was rocking back and forth.

The truck was _rocking back and forth._

With tripping feet Flug ran back to the director’s office and knocked on her door as respectfully urgent as he could. “Dr. Rorschach, this is Dr. Slys. The patient is here, he’s – he’s in an armored truck!”

The knob turned and he was face to face with a frame of bobbed orange hair and glasses. Dr. Lauren Rorschach blinked at him, clipboard and case file in hand. Flug gestured helplessly to the window and she made her way over.

“Come now, Doctor. I know he’s high-profile, but surely that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” She adjusted her glasses and looked out at the scene. Her face paled. “That’s…unnerving.”

Flug joined her at the window. The truck was still shaking violently and several guards were crowding around the back doors, all carrying riot shields while one unlocked it with a finger scan. The two psychiatrists shared a stunned stare. 

“Ma’am, f-forgive me for my hesitance, b-but you mentioned he’s a high profile criminal?”

“I did. I’m ah, I’m sure you read his file.” Dr. Rorschach brought a hand to her mouth.

“Well y-yes but, this is…Doctor, do you know why they, I-I mean…what is he?” He was really starting to regret accepting the invitation.

Outside, the guards had successfully opened the truck and were moving in two at a time. An unholy shriek reverberated from inside like a shock wave across the estate. Flug convulsed. His superior jolted and their hair stood on end. She parted her lips, drew in a breath, and began reciting policy.

“We, we at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane are – are proud in our welcoming of patients from all walks of life, regardless of notoriety or –” the truck _bounced_ , and Dr. Rorschach grimaced, “species. I knew this patient would be…a little different than the usual, they told me he’s not human, but this…”

“This is insane.” Flug finished with a shudder. He had read the case. No current photos on file, no prior background knowledge beyond convicted crimes, and only an alias – Black Hat – with a very vague “Not Human” under the species category. 

There was another shriek as six guards carried out what seemed be a stretcher at first glance. But both doctors did a double take because it wasn’t a stretcher, it was a container. As in, sci-fi Area 51 alien containment container. Rectangular with smoothed corners, made of white-painted metal bolted in every conceivable crack, and with one tiny circle of a window near one end that was no doubt bulletproof. 

Six guards ended up not being enough, because two started to shake, but Flug couldn’t say whether it was because of whatever was inside of it or if it was just the sheer weight of the thing. The result was nine Interpol officers and two security members taking the monstrosity up the steps toward the entrance. Dr. Rorschach seemed to snap out of her trance.

“Oh, we need to be there to greet them! Hurry Doctor!” She took long strides down the hall and turned the corner to the front lobby, and Flug struggled to catch up.

“With all d-due respect, Ma’am, I don’t think this is a g-good idea.”

“It’s not,” the director confirmed, lips pressing into a line. She was still shaking. “But Interpol offered us a great deal of revenue if we accepted the case. Don’t get me wrong, Doctor, your success is outstanding, but we get paid just as much for admitting patients as we do sending them out.”

They passed the security gate and waited in the middle of the lobby, halfway between the grand doorway and the check-in. Flug touched the bottom of his bag. His superior continued.

“We’ve been informed that this patient, Black Hat, is not really expected to be rehabilitated. They want him contained here. We have some of the best security and safety here, especially on Floor 5. It’s against policy but…I’m sorry, Dr. Slys. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Ah, n-no, I get it. Money and p-power make the world go round.” He watched two of their staff members open the doors. “I just really wish it d-didn’t, sometimes.”

Dr. Rorschach gave a puff of a laugh before setting up the happy, sunny smile she was so famous for. There were still goosebumps up her arms. The guards carrying the vessel came in first, followed by every remaining Interpol officer. It got crowded very fast.

“Welcome to our institute! We can’t thank you enough for giving us the privilege of such a high-priority assignment.” The words came out steady and natural, as if the director wasn’t just scared out of her wits a minute ago. Flug envied her acting ability. She waited as the lead officer came forward and gave a respectful bow of her head. He returned the gesture and cleared his throat.

“Dr. Rorschach, the pleasure is all mine. I’m Inspector Daniels.” He was much taller than either psychiatrist, and there was a wary, hard tint to his eyes. He made eye contact with Flug, who straightened up a tad. “And I assume you are the psychiatrist assigned to this case?”

“Oh, p-pleased to meet you but I –” His superior subtly shifted next to him. “I mean! I’m Dr. Slys, yes. I’m the attending psychiatrist. Yes.”

The inspector frowned and looked him up and down. “Are you sure you’re…equipped enough to look after this criminal? It’s a very dangerous task.”

 _Gee, I had no idea._ Flug almost rolled his eyes. His fingers twitched. “I assure you, I-Inspector, I’m more than prepared to handle any patient who walks through these doors. We refuse to believe anyone admitted here is beyond help, and the facilities here at the Global Psychiatric –”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Daniels shook his head and turned to his officers, who were no longer struggling with the containment unit. It had gone ominously still and silent. “You people can spit up slogans all you like, but this thing here,” he walked over and tapped the glass. Something hissed in response. “He doesn’t play by any rules. Doesn’t respond to threats or intimidation. Certainly doesn’t play nice.”

The director opened her mouth, but the inspector wasn’t done. “Look, Doctors, I have a lot of respect for the work you do. It’s not a global institute for nothing. But we absolutely cannot let this criminal escape. It’s taken decades to catch him, and I need your absolute guarantee that you’ll be able to contain him. Can’t have any…weak links in the chain.” His eyes flickered over to Flug and the doctor just about saw red.

“As I-I already said, Inspector, I can assure you that there will be no issue on my end. I have dealt with the worst society – the world – has produced, and I have no intention of letting one patient change that.” He puffed his chest just a little when Dr. Rorschach nodded in agreement. She vouched for him, at least. 

A sound came out of the container, rough and low and repetitive. If Flug gave it more thought than a simple glance, he would have believed it sounded like chortling. Inspector Daniels considered him for a minute, ignoring the disturbance.

“Very well, Dr. Slys, Dr. Rorschach,” he said softly, “I’ll take your word for it. I do, however, expect a statement each week about any trouble you may be having. We’ll take him up to Floor 5. You’ve prepared the cell with the highest security, I assume?”

Flug’s superior nodded again, but a frown marred her face. “You don’t want us to perform orientation down here? We have standard rooms available, it follows procedure –”

“With all due respect, Ma’am, I rather don’t trust anything that’s not a secure cell. We’ve taken every precaution necessary to ensure he isn’t a danger to himself or us, and I’d rather keep those precautions in place. Please let us through the security gate.”

“Of, of course.” Dr. Rorschach turned with a click of her heels and swiped her ID at the entrance, adding her fingerprint scan as well. Daniels and his entourage followed with Flug packed somewhere in between. He thanked the stars the gate was big enough for the container.

The elevator was designed for a maximum of just over 1,000 kilograms and big enough for a good 20 people if packed. With twelve people sandwiched around the unit sitting in the center, it was pretty crowded. As they worked their way up, Flug couldn’t help the quick look into the little window in hopes of seeing who was apparently his patient now. It was dark on the other side of the glass, but there was no sign of movement or anything he recognized as a face or body.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief stepping out of the elevator, and they began the long journey down to the end of the Floor 5 hallway. Several curious, sometimes manic patients peered out at the parade passing their rooms, but no one made a sound when they caught eye of the sheer number of Interpol officers. A few chanced a wave to Flug, who timidly raised his hand in response.

Halfway there, they passed Dementia’s cell.

“Whoa, what’s with all the pizazz?” She smooshed her face against the padded bars, mouth hanging open. “Oh hey Dr. Inksplotch, what’s – Flug! ¿Qué pasa? Who’re these stiffs? You bringin’ in a newbie?”

The doctor tried to ignore her, he really did, but she whined louder as they moved on without a word. Profanities started leaking out as well, and Dr. Rorschach smiled a little too cheerfully when Inspector Daniels looked her way.

“Oh, don’t mind our dear patient, she’s always been very inquisitive – very smart for her age. We’ve been working together to help her with,” an irritated ‘¡putos!’ was spit at them from behind, “ah, how to better express herself.” Dementia snarled and disappeared from sight.

At the end of the hallway were four cells made for the most volatile of inmates – padded floor to ceiling like the rest but with a camera and sound system in each room, and double-reinforced walls. The doors were made with titanium and each had three locks; a keypad, a fingerprint scan, and a keyhole. According to records, these rooms had only been used twice, both long before Flug’s employment.

 _Well_ , he thought as officers pulled the unit into a cell, _there’s a first time for everything, I suppose._

Six Interpol agents stayed in the room along with Dr. Flug and the Inspector. Daniels waited until the director relocked the door from the other side before giving his officers the go-ahead. They braced themselves around the container as he fished a special remote from his pocket and pressed a button.

“You may want to stay behind me, Doctor,” he informed Flug, who complied just as the unit let out a hydraulic hiss and the door unlatched. It was the only warning they had before a black and white thing collided with the nearest officer and knocked her straight into the wall. It kept her pinned and turned its head completely around with a crack, growling at the remaining group who had their weapons out and ready. Neither party moved, and Flug got a good first look at his newest patient.

Black Hat was…underwhelming to look at but terrifying to watch. He wore a top hat and a monocle, and his one visible eye blazed with something otherworldly. He was tied in a fortified straitjacket that was raised dapperly around his neck like the beginning of a cape. A blinking, metal collar sat tight around his throat. His lips curled and showed a mouth full of the sharpest teeth the doctor had ever seen.

“Well, Inspector, it appears we’re at an impasse,” he drawled, civil with a hint of brutality. “You can’t shoot me without hitting your dear officer, and I can’t move in a way that’s beneficial to me.”

“It seems so,” Daniels was motionless. “What will make you release her?”

“You know very well what I want, Marcus,” Black Hat dragged the name out effortlessly, eyes narrowed as the Inspector stiffened. “But I suppose you have no intention of letting me go.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Very well. Then answer my questions. Where am I? My natural compass seems to be shot today. Must be all the drugs.” He ran a forked tongue over his teeth. “I was under the impression I was being moved to another penitentiary.”

Flug made the very big mistake of stepping just past his Inspector protector. Daniels inhaled sharply and reached for him, but it was too late. Black Hat locked eyes with the trembling doctor.

“This doesn’t look like any officer I’ve ever seen.” His hostage tried to move and he pressed against her into immobility, eyes never breaking contact.

“Ah, uh I’m, I-I am Doctor Slys, licensed c-criminal psychiatrist, and you, you’re at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane. You, um, you’re here for t-treatment.”

“Treatment.”

“Ah, y-yes. For rehabilitation and…reentry into society?”

“I see.” Black Hat’s gaze flicked over to the Inspector. “Attempting humor now, Marcus? I’m flattered, but it’s really not your style. I asked for a location, and I’m getting one. _**Now.**_ ” He leaned into the pinned officer until she choked for breath. The others raised their weapons, but their superior didn’t give the order. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his own.

Flug stumbled forward another step, causing everyone to tense as the inmate growled warning at him. He touched the edges of his bag. “It – it’s not a lie, I swear! My n-name is Doctor Flug Slys, and you have been f-formally admitted to our hospital. I’ve been assigned as your primary psychiatrist.”

“Is that so?” The doctor nodded shakily and the creature glanced around the room lazily. “Quite the first meeting, Doctor.”

“Ah, w-well this was supposed to be your orientation period.” Black Hat lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Orientation is a w-welcoming period where we d-determine your treatment plan and how b-best to offer our services.”

“Mm…” The inmate scrutinized Flug, but he spread his hand sincerely. The best policy was often frankness, in his experience. Humming, Black Hat turned to the frozen inspector with a further crack of his neck. Everyone winced.

“He’s telling the truth. Your officer is very lucky, Marcus. I’m going to release her now and move a meter to my right. None of you will shoot at me. How does that sound, Marcus?”

Daniels hesitated for a second, but then he looked at the pleading hostage across the room and the pleading doctor in front of him. He nodded almost imperceptibly. The inmate showed teeth again and did exactly as he’d promised, rolling off his captive who darted to the inspector’s side, out of breath. Nobody shot, but nobody moved.

It was Dr. Rorschach, standing outside the cell, who broke the silence. Flug had forgotten she was there. “If you are content, Mr. Black Hat, I’d appreciate if we could formally begin our orientation period. We can ask the officers to leave for patient confidentiality, if you wish.”

Three officers looked ready to protest but were cut off by Daniels. “That works just fine, Doctor. I believe we’re done here anyway.” He gestured for his team to join him at the door, and they crowded around, refusing to turn away from the creature, who offered a winning business smile. Flug didn’t move.

“Aren’t you coming, Dr. Slys?” Daniels’ quiet voice came from beyond the cracked cell door.

“Oh, n-no thank you, I, I still need to consult with the patient.” There was a shuffle outside, and although Flug didn’t dare take his eyes off the inmate on the other side of the room, he could guess what the Interpol officers were thinking. “I’m n-not helpless, Inspector.”

“He’s right,” Dr. Rorschach spoke, a little muffled. “He’s the primary psychiatrist of our lovely patient just down the hall who gave us her thoughts a few minutes ago. They’ve built up a lot of trust. We have cameras inside and our own security right outside, just in case of an emergency. Please, sir,” the lilt in her voice became charismatic, “trust us. Trust our institute. We won’t let you down.”

Flug risked a look in his peripheral vision at the window, where his superior nodded at him and left. He could hear the click, click of her heels and the echoing stomps of every Interpol officer. They continued talking, and eventually their words and voices left the floor.

There was a scoff, and the doctor turned to watch Black Hat slide down against the wall, crossing his legs and leaning his head back. He looked tired. The light on his collar blinked steadily. 

“They must not think very highly of you, leaving you alone with me.” His chest expanded slowly, pushing against the straitjacket. 

“Ah, well, there are g-guards right outside, Mr. Black Hat. They’re just as c-capable as any trained officer.” Flug recited the policy to keep himself grounded. He tugged at his paper bag. His patient looked miffed.

“Just as incompetent, you mean.” He looked at the paper bag and goggles, unimpressed. “I must say, for such a famous group, they certainly hire the most pathetic humans. You are rather underwhelming to look at, ‘Doctor’.”

It was a new patient. A dangerous patient. He needed to be careful with his words. “I c-can assure you, I am one of the most qualified individuals here.” His fingers tapped his lab coat. “Speaking of that, I think it’s a good time to continue your orientation, if you’d prefer.”

“You mentioned your services. What services?” The inmate uncrossed his legs and stretched them out in front of him.

“Well, uh,” he began counting off his gloves, “counseling, physical and mental healthcare, prescriptions, group therapy…eventually. Depending on behavior.”

A low, raspy chuckle. “Do you think I’m incapable of good behavior, Doctor…?” Black Hat paused, and his mouth twitched low for just a flash. The collar blinked. “Ah, do forgive my impoliteness, but I seem to have forgotten what you mentioned you were called.”

“Oh, oh it’s, uh, Dr. Slys.” Flug usually gave his first name in introductions, but something was telling him it wasn’t a very smart move here. He trusted his gut.

“Slys…” the patient tasted the word, forked tongue curling just under his teeth. “Rather devious name, Doctor. Fitting for someone who works with criminals.”

“I, th-thank you?”

“Mm,” Black Hat bumped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His top hat didn’t seem to be affected by the physics of it. “Well Dr. Slys, it’s been fun, but I’m afraid I’ve grown uninterested in you now. Do follow the example of your colleague and leave me be.”

 _Watch your words. You don’t know what your patient is capable of yet._ “I’m not a-authorized to do that until we work out a treatment plan. Or at least a schedule for the next few days. I think it would be beneficial to both of us if we –”

“That was not a request, Doctor.” Black Hat opened his eyes and gave Flug a dangerous look. Shivers ran down the doctor’s back. “I said I do not care for your presence anymore, and you’d do well to listen to me. I may be restrained but do not think for a second that you are the one in control.”

The wording was different, but he had heard that tone and implication before. Multiple times. Inmates who thought they were all that, or had been all that, but were ultimately powerless here regardless of threats. It reminded him greatly of Dementia’s first meeting with him, actually.

_“Stay the fuck away from me, gringo, and there won’t be a problem.”_

He didn’t think. Or he was thinking of Dementia, and how their banter had gone from hostile to something more like pestering within the course of three months, because instead of staying professional, instead of trusting every alarm bell ringing in his head, Flug opened his mouth and said:

“I told you we weren’t done. You want me to leave? Make me.”

Black Hat made no move or sound. There was no change in expression. He was deathly still, eyes trained on expressive goggles, but nausea welled up in the doctor’s stomach and he booked it for the door.

He got three steps.

A heavy body crashed into his back, and Flug fell onto cushioned floor with a thud. Weight pressed onto him from above. It wasn’t like when he had restrained Dementia just the day before. No, this inmate was on top of him from feet to shoulders.

“You have some balls, Dr. _Slys_ ,” a voice hissed against his bag, right next to his ear. “It’s almost commendable. But I’ve been in a bad mood for quite some time now, and you,” he pushed against Flug’s back, squeezing his breath out, “are not,” feet pressed hard into his ankles, “ _ **helping.**_ ”

Flug couldn’t breathe. Buckles and straps dug into him from behind, and if it weren’t for the straitjacket there’d probably be hands at his neck. Hot air against his neck made the doctor shudder. He whimpered once and closed his eyes, waiting for those pointed teeth to bite into him.

But they didn’t.

Instead, Black Hat held him there for only a few seconds before his collar beeped once and he stiffened, making a noise deep in his throat. The locked door chimed and two burly security guards came rushing in, pulling the inmate off and allowing Flug to scramble to his feet and flee. He paused at the door and looked back, watching his patient retreat into the far corner of the room, hissing at the guards in languages Flug wasn’t aware existed. They made brief eye contact and Black Hat’s lip curled again, a promise so definite that the poor doctor almost ran down the hallway. But he waited outside as the guards came through and locked the door. Both turned to look him over.

“Are you okay, Doctor?” The larger one asked, his face creased in worry.

Flug pulled on his bag and checked for tears. Nothing. He patted down his pants and lab coat. Everything was still in place. “I-I’m fine, I’m okay, he d-didn’t hurt me. Thank you gentlemen.”

“It’s no problem, sir.” The other smiled down at him, and Flug took a moment to read their name tags. Lucas and Ben. He’d seen them before on this hall, but they’d never interacted. “We’re here to help. It’s our job, after all.”

“Yes, y-yes, but still, I…” _Teeth at his jugular._ “I really can’t thank you enough.” He shuddered once. He needed to get back to his office. Back to something safe. “I think I’ll head back down, if you don’t mind.”

Without another word Flug wobbled down the hall, holding his arms and trying to stop shaking so violently. This was not his first encounter with a violent patient. He had been injured before. Really, he needed to calm down. It ended better than it could have.

Dementia popped up as he passed her cell. “So, who’s the new – holy shit, what happened to you?”

The doctor shook his head mutely, giving his patient a weak smile. “Nothing, nothing happened to me. Just a more intense orientation than I’m used to. Don’t worry.”

She cocked her head, eyeing his rumpled bag, but he turned away and began walking again. “I’m fine, Dementia. I’ll see you tomorrow for your session.”

Dementia pouted but didn’t pry. They had an agreement, after all. Some things you didn’t spill until you were ready. Instead she let him go, yelling out after him, “If they start shit again, let me know! I’ll pound them for you!”

It was a nice if impossible offer, and Flug let the support wash over him like his favorite hand sanitizer. He reached the elevator and wordlessly went down. After he was gone, Dementia huffed and sat her chin on the bottom of the window, cheeks bunched up between the bars.

“Ten cuidado, Flug.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (are you feeling it now Dr. Flug)
> 
> Black Hat is so much fun to write, wow. I didn't think anyone could top Daxter from the Jak series but he's pretty close. What a dynamic character.
> 
> I got this all out in a rush because I had time and inspiration. My guess is that chapters will probably be spaced around a week apart from here on out. We can hope. Also, OCs are there for necessity because there are literally only five or so characters in the show currently. I won't show more of them unless need be, but if I do I'll be making an effort to keep them three dimensional. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Bruises and Bears and Bombs, Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug discovers his encounter with Black Hat went a little worse than he thought, and 505 joins the party - kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some descriptions of violence and gore

Dr. Flug sat down at his desk with a wince, bracing his arms on either side of the chair. Even with the help of the elevator, getting back to the safety of this place was difficult. He was sore, and stiffness was starting to set in at his chest, but he opened two tabs on his computer. One he used to pull up the list of security staff and found the two who rescued him from Black Hat. The other tab he set up as an email to his director.

_Dr. Rorschach,_

_My apologies if you are still occupied with our Interpol guests, but I regret to inform you that the orientation with the patient Black Hat was not_

He paused, lightly touching the ‘J’ key, then added in ‘successful’. It was erased quickly and replaced with ‘fruitful’. Keeping in the rhythm of the clicks, Flug wrote and rewrote his paragraph in quick succession, stopping halfway through sentences to reread earlier ones and change the wording before coming back to his place. He was at it for a good ten minutes before deeming it good enough. His side throbbed.

_Dr. Rorschach,_

_My apologies if you are still occupied with our Interpol guests, but I regret to inform you that the orientation with the patient Black Hat was not fruitful. He displayed hostility throughout the exchange and appeared uninterested in my descriptions of the care our facility would provide. Our conversation was ended when the patient attempted to assault me, but thanks to the admirable efforts of our security he was unsuccessful._

_As the attending psychiatrist, I ask that another attempt to determine treatment with the patient be made within the next few days, but with the presence of an additional psychiatrist or nurse for support. I also ask that the two security staff members currently assigned, Lucas Gilinsky and Benjamin Falk, be available for surveillance during any periods of contact with the patient._

_Finally, please inform me of any new messages we may receive from Interpol regarding the status of the patient. I will comply with Inspector Daniel’s request of progress reports each week, and will send them to you beforehand for review and confirmation. In the meantime, I will continue my daily duties to the best of my ability as a proud employee of the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane._

_Respectfully,  
Dr. Flug Slys, M.D._

Flug hit send and closed the tabs, leaning back in his chair with another wince and holding his side gingerly. He considered himself. Maybe it wasn’t the aftereffects of adrenaline making him shake. With a brief look at his locked door, the doctor pulled up his shirt. His eyes widened through his goggles.

An ugly purple bruise was visible on the right side of his torso, right where Black Hat had rammed him. A careful touch around it told him it probably extended to his backside as well. He knew it was a highly logical outcome – the inmate had pressed into him hard enough to knock his breath out – but the thought of such an injury impeding his work, maybe for at least a week, made Flug groan at the same time it made him grimace. To the infirmary it was, then.

Floor 2 held the honor of housing the infirmary, laboratory and pharmacy all together. Its location was for two reasons: one, they didn’t want inmates that close to the first floor in case of an attempted breakout and two, it had the widest outside fire lane for those wheelchair-bound or otherwise incapacitated. Flug usually went there for prescription pick-ups for his patients, but he wasn’t unfamiliar with the other side of the doctor’s curtain. An occupational hazard they had all learned to take in stride.

It happened to be a fairly quiet day, thank goodness, so the doctor mechanically filled out the paperwork and waited in an uncomfortable end seat. He didn’t even bother looking at the magazines – they were all anatomy-related and although he wasn’t a novice on the subject, Flug had found that matters of the mind were a much more suitable puzzle for his way of thinking. 

A familiar nurse called his name and the doctor followed him as they headed into a standard room. They did a very speedy run through of the obligatory info like weight and temperature, and then Flug shed his lab coat and lifted his shirt again, bunching it up at his armpits. The nurse let out a low whistle as he circled the bruise.

“Dang, Doctor, I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen you, but you didn’t have to go all out just for us.” He bent at Flug’s side, holding a pen to green lipstick. The matching colored bandana he wore had a fascinating illusionary pattern, and the psychiatrist focused on that as the nurse started kneading around the edges of the discoloring.

“Ah, y-yes, well, I can honestly tell you I wasn’t expecting to, uh, go so far out I suppose.” He winced and the nurse lifted his head apologetically. “Just a new patient who, ah, didn’t take kindly to me.”

There was a snort. “Now see, as much as I appreciate the work you guys do, I’d never trade places. No thanks. We get more than enough trouble when they’re injured. I don’t know how you survive. A six feet, 90 kilogram inmate at full health? That’s your problem.” 

Flug couldn’t help it, he laughed a little hysterically. “Would you believe it if I told you the patient that did this is only a little taller than I am? And not much larger to boot?”

The nurse paused in his clipboard writing. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” the psychiatrist sighed, dropping his shirt. “I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, Dementia has given me some really nasty stuff in the past, but…” He tugged on his bag and his knuckles unconsciously pressed against his collarbone. “I don’t know. Just the feeling this one might be a little harder. I c-can’t explain it, I don’t know.”

“Hmm, well, don’t bite off more than you can chew, Doctor.” The nurse tore off a little sheet from his clipboard. “I didn’t feel any bruising of the ribs, just a lot of broken blood vessels along the skin. It honestly looks a lot worse than it is. You have any stiffness? Shortness of breath?”

“Stiffness, yes, but no trouble breathing. It, it throbs a bit though.”

“I don’t doubt it. Here,” he handed Flug a prescription note, “I’ll have to get permission from a doctor before they let you have it over at pharmacy, but these are fairly common painkillers, medium dose. Should help keep you going while it heals.”

Flug looked at the note before pocketing it. He recognized the name. Could cause drowsiness, but that had never stopped his work before. “Hey, uh, while I’m waiting for that, d-do you mind if I could get an update on 505?”

The nurse stopped with the door halfway open. “Oh, oh the bear! Sure! He’s in recovery still, but he’s coherent and they’re not quarantining him anymore. I’ll take you to his room, it’s on my way, but you might need permission to go in.”

“Ah, that’s no problem, thank you.”

“No problem.” They took a left, a right, a straight, and then they were standing in front of the closed door of a recovery room listed as ‘in use’. The nurse gave him a quirk of the mouth and went on his way. Flug knocked politely on the door.

Another nurse opened it and looked surprised. “Oh, Dr. Flug, how are you? Are you here for 505?” She smiled warmly and he tried not to rub the back of his bag.

“Ah, y-yeah, I was hoping I could swing by for a visit. Is – is that okay?”

“Let me check,” she disappeared and Flug leaned back a bit, arms wrapped carefully around his torso. The nurse popped her head back out and nodded. “He’s well enough for a visitor today, I think. He’s really excited to see you.”

Flug treaded into the room carefully and turned his head to the left when a muted ‘barroo?’ came to his attention. There was 505, in a very large, very sturdy bed. He was laying on his back on an incline, eyes half-lidded, but his face lit up softly at the sight of his psychiatrist.

The doctor in question came cautiously over in slow, measured steps. He gently reached out and pointed to a nearby chair in a question, and the bear smiled in answer.

“Hey, 505, how are we doing today?” He sat down quietly, keeping his movements slow. The nurse stayed by the door, content with observing.

“Ruuu,” his patient responded, big fluffy blue head shifting to face him. “Brau…”

“That’s good! I’m glad you’re doing so well,” Flug reached up carefully to touch his bag. “Don’t you worry, you’ll be out of here soon and back to your room in no time. We can’t have you missing the best part of the week, right?”

505’s ears perked at the mention of his favorite pastime – finger painting – and he gave a slow, happy huff. His eyes were drooping.

“Yeah, I’ll make it up to you, okay? I’ll have a bunch of new things for you to try once you’re out of here, to catch up on everything. How’s that sound?”

The bear was nodding off already, medication hard at work, but he managed a long, content ‘bararr’ in approval of this marvelous idea. Flug waited until his heart monitor slowed in signs of sleep before standing quietly and giving his patient a quick once-over.

A medical blanket went halfway up 505’s body, but under his chest were just the barest hint of bandages. Despite his exhaustion he had a lot more color to his fur than the last time the psychiatrist had seen him, and it brought a shot of joy to his heart to see. He crept away and out the door, and the nurse came with him.

“He was so happy to see you,” she whispered, a sad smile on her face. “We haven’t gotten him to vocalize that much since before his surgery.”

“Oh that’s, that’s good – err, that’s maybe not so good but I, you know what I mean. I think.” Flug put a palm to his goggle lenses and tried again. “The p-procedure seemed to go well. How long until he recovers?”

“Well, you know we had to get all the shrapnel out,” she hesitated at the worried look on his face, “oh but don’t worry, it was successful, not anything foreign left in his body. And he’s…” she glanced back at the door in something like wonder. “He’s healing faster than any patient I’ve, we’ve ever seen before. You mentioned it was part of his biology?”

“Yeah. Genetically enhanced, virtually indestructible.” He thought of ticking time bombs. “Well, hypothetically virtually indestructible.”

“Ah, yes but.” The nurse shook her head, pity and sympathy warring for a moment. “It’s amazing he’s lived through what he has, really.” The pity won. “That poor bear.”

They stood in the corridor, silent and thinking about 505. He had been arrested at the site of an attempted assassination of a politician somewhere in Canada – the details were classified. What the officers had found was a confused, distraught, genetically modified monster of a bear who had been dropped, quite literally, on top of the house of the would-be martyr by individuals they still had yet to find. It was speculated to be the work of a terrorist group, especially after they found that the reason the bear had been dropped was because he had a time bomb in his stomach.

It hadn’t gone off when it was supposed to, which led to the politician surviving and calling the Emergency Response Team, which then led to them finding a giant blue bear with the mental and emotional capacity of a six-year-old and the body of fluffy steel. He had been admitted to their institute a month and a half ago for mental instability due to suspected abuse. The bomb, believed a dud, was apprehensively left alone in the hopes the bear’s bizarre metabolism would either break it down or expel it.

Two days ago it had gone off, still sitting in his stomach. 

And now here was Flug, standing guiltily outside of his patient’s recovery room after the emergency medical staff had spent a good seven hours combing for every bit of shrapnel they could find. They had not expected him to survive, well, any of it, but he had, and Flug could only hope that now 505 would recover a little better mentally without a literal bomb in his guts. 

At that moment, the nurse wearing the green bandana and lipstick came back, face lifting as he caught sight of his momentary charge.

“Hey, glad I spotted you! Your prescription’s been approved. If you need anything else, feel free to give us a call.” He stopped in front of Flug as 505’s nurse stepped quietly back inside the room and closed the door. “How’s your patient doing?”

“Better than the last few days, it seems.” The psychiatrist tapped at the side of his coat. “He’s a fast healer, so I’m – they’re hopeful.”

“That’s great!” The nurse grinned big and wide before heading off in another direction, peddling backwards. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but I’ve got a lot on my plate. Quiet day for incoming patients means busy day for paperwork.”

“Ah, ah that’s no problem, I understand. I know where the pharmacy is from here, I’ll just –” he stopped when the nurse gave him a quick thumbs up and disappeared around the corner. “Right, I’ll just, I guess I’ll just head over then.”

The pick-up at the pharmacy was short and sweet, which Flug was eternally grateful for as he stood fidgeting in the elevator. It dinged and he got off with a twinge from his side. He didn’t get the chance to distract himself, however, as when he reached his office, he saw Dr. Rorschach waiting by the door. She saw him at the same time and raised a weary hand in greeting.

“Dr. Flug, how are you? I received your email and I…wanted to talk to you about our new patient.”

 _Uh oh_ , he grimaced to himself as he passed her, unlocking the door and letting her through. She stood in front of his desk as he haltingly sat down.

“So, uh, w-what did you want to t-talk about?” He attempted a welcoming look. Her face remained carefully blank and he swallowed. “I, d-did I do something wrong?”

His superior seemed startled at that and rushed to correct him. “Oh no, heavens no, you’ve been wonderful, Doctor, and I…” she steeled herself. “I wanted to formally apologize.”

“Uhm, what?”

“I received your email shortly after you sent it – the inspector and his, officers seemed very eager to leave. Anyway, I read it and I, ah, I reviewed the security feed from the last two hours and I…saw what happened.” The director closed her eyes, pained. “I should have expected the new patient to remain hostile after what happened with Interpol but, I was trying to keep them reassured and I…left you alone to deal with the aftermath.”

Flug opened his mouth, still stunned. “Oh b-but I knew the r-risks, I mean, I knew what c-could happen and I, I made that decision as well, y-you shouldn’t b-blame yourself, please.”

She shook her head. “No, we both made decisions and mine wasn’t good enough. I didn’t even instruct the security team to go in with you. I’m sorry. It was unprofessional and very dangerous. You could have been seriously hurt.” Her eyes flickered to the pharmacy bag still in his grip. “You…you _were_ hurt.”

“It’s fine, i-it’s fine, I promise,” he pleaded, dropping the painkillers on the desk and lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, n-nothing really came out of it a-and it’s not the first t-time that’s happened. We’ll just, we’ll just exercise more c-caution from now on.”

Dr. Rorschach wilted and nodded, charisma and charm replaced by nervousness and shame. Flug could honestly say he’d never felt this level of similarity with her before. She adjusted her glasses and drew herself to a more professional height.

“Well, since that’s settled, I suppose our next order of business is finding a suitable psychiatrist to join you in your next…attempt. When did you say you wanted to try again?”

“Hopefully within the n-next few days, maybe t-tomorrow if time permits. Is, does that sound good?”

“Yes it does,” the director was at the door in an instant. “I’ll find a list of people who have time to accompany you tomorrow – I’ll send it to you as soon as I can this evening. Feel free to choose whoever you’re most comfortable with. He is your patient, after all.” She paused, halfway in the hall. “For what it’s worth, Doctor, I really am sorry.”

“Ah, d-don’t mention it. At least n-now we know to be careful, right? I’m sure there won’t be another incident anytime soon.” He offered a sincere goodbye when she left, and when the door closed he stood quickly and repeated his routine. He straightened his lab coat, brushed the wrinkles out of his pants, and took off his long yellow gloves to apply another squirt of hand sanitizer. He rubbed his hands until the gel soaked in completely, then meticulously put the gloves back on, one finger at a time. Then he went over his bag for wrinkles and tears.

It drove him nuts not being able to do that during the first few seconds back in his office, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. There was no way he was doing the ritual in front of anyone, much less his superior.

As soon as it was complete he went straight for the nearest water bottle, checked the directions on his prescription, and downed two pills in one gulp of processed spring water. His side was killing him. It was probably the stress. 

The doctor collapsed back in his chair and stayed like that for a while, staring at the ceiling. After a good few minutes he pulled up his new patient’s file. As the designated psychiatrist, he now had a lot more access to its records, but ironically enough the confidential list under ‘charges’ remained confidential. If he was going to be dedicated to this case, he needed to stay informed, so he clicked on the first updated paragraph he found and began reading. 

Despite his status, there was still an underwhelming amount of information about Black Hat. He was at least forty years old (if vague eye witness accounts and blurry half-corrupted photos at very old crime scenes were reliable enough) and although he seemed to take pride and credit for a lot of his ‘work’ it was remarkable how difficult pinning substantial evidence on the criminal was. If he didn’t want to be connected to something, he wasn’t. That was that.

Flug eventually found a psychiatrist report from 1995, when Interpol had actually managed to detain Black Hat for a solid five days before his escape – a record short for the task force and a record long for the criminal. The report was…concerning.

It started out innocently enough. A Doctor Nathan Hyde had attempted to analyze the mind of a twisted, terrifying individual who finally appeared contained after who knew how long. In their first session on the first day of his incarceration, Black Hat had refused to speak for the entire period, opting instead to sit perched on one arm of his chair like a vulture, unmoving and unblinking until the hour had come to a close. There were even pictures to prove it. Flug noted that he had worn a similar straitjacket but no collar.

The second day seemed a little more promising. Dr. Hyde’s notes wrote about engaging in small talk with the inmate, managing to get him to discuss his favorite color, his favorite instrument, and his favorite mode of transportation; rich black and carmine red, the violin, and flying respectively. The session ended when the psychiatrist had asked what his favorite childhood memory was and Black Hat had responded with “flattering, Doctor, but I’m afraid that is none of your concern” and then crouched _behind_ the chair for the remainder of the period.

On the third day, he had attacked his psychiatrist.

Flug looked at the attached photos from the related medical report and shuddered. Lacerations from teeth lined all the way up one arm and covered the right shoulder, and weighty chunks of flesh were missing. The right ear had been shredded off completely, and whatever happened to Dr. Hyde’s face would forever remain a mystery, because the head had been wrapped thoroughly in bandages and there was no more information about it. The psychiatrist had remained in intensive care for two weeks and forfeited his license not long after leaving the hospital.

Dr. Flug was not squeamish in the slightest. He had once watched an inmate use a pilfered, sharpened piece of broken hard wood to stab another inmate through the eye. He had been in the room when the bomb had gone off in 505’s stomach and helped to hold his small intestine in its place until the emergency team had arrived.

But there was something visceral, primal even, about the aftermath of the attack on Black Hat’s first psychiatrist. Something that made his toes crunch together in their sneakers, and his fingers curl against the bottom of his bag. Something that made his side ache and reminded him of the feel of hot breath and deadly teeth next to his arteries, right up until that collar had gone off. The guards would have been too late otherwise.

That collar had probably saved his life.

Perhaps the most bizarre thing about the situation, as Flug read about Black Hat’s escape two days later back in 1995 and his subsequent wreaking of havoc across three countries for the next year after that, was that despite his body having literal chills and his stomach wanting to leave and never return, there was something else.

There was something that coiled under the fear and the nausea. Something he had kept under wraps for nearly ten successful years now. Something that only his most unhinged patients ever caught the slightest whiff of, and Dementia had been the closest so far to finding it.

It was something that should not have been dark but was. It was something worrisome.

He was eager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is coming out early because I finished it early because my week later is hectic I hate it
> 
> And sorry, no Black Hat interactions this chapter, but we gotta get the world building out of the way. He's still a terrifying f'er even in third-person passing. Also fun fact, the way that Flug types in the beginning is exactly how I type. It can be very productive some days and...not so much other days. It's a wonder I get anything done, honestly.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has enjoyed this story so far - I've been overwhelmed by the response and it hasn't even been a full seven days yet, jeez. Y'all are as thirsty for this as I am.


	4. Naming Conventions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our newest patient considers his situation, and learns something that maybe he shouldn't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters in Black Hat's point of view will be 1st person.

Before we continue, I suppose I should make a few matters quite clear.

First, I am not, as you humans say, beyond this world. My body is very much physical, for all of its horrific capabilities. I require sustenance as any other, although the frequency and form of it differs greatly from most current life on this miserable mass we call a planet. I also have the potential, hypothetically, to experience pain in its most basic, physical manner. 

I have yet to encounter something able to do so.

Secondly, I have a biological drive, so to speak, in the same way all living creatures do. But unlike the pathetic urges felt by these creatures to survive and reproduce and further the existence of their species, mine is the unconditional opposite. I live to destroy, to halt the process of life and its advancement. These inclinations are most strongly felt during the potential removal of a soul – a being, if you will – from the corporeal world, but that does not mean I am unfulfilled in the more subtle eradications of the every day. Far from it; I relish the inconsequential inconveniences, the negligible nuisances, the eventual ends of equanimity that develop only from the consistent and repetitive breakdown of the emotional and mental states. One does not have to lose their head to, well, lose their head.

Third and last of all, I am not above admitting my faults. I will not deny to being prideful, or confident, or even arrogant. The accusations of those concepts mean nothing to me. But to be unwilling to recognize a mistake, or refuse to believe one can be made, is a dangerous and frankly foolish mindset. How does one expect to prove themselves the best, if they cannot seize their moments of weakness, however few, and use them as stepping stones to an even higher level of awareness and efficiency towards their claim? The thought baffles me.

That is not to say I allow my enemies or allies to recognize them, or admit to them there are indeed mistakes that I can make. Quite the contrary – one must always display a certain poise in the presence of others that does not betray any hint of fault, as failing to do so often leads to insubordination, mutiny, and challenge on all sides. A lapse in judgement is fine, so long as it is known to only yourself.

And so, of course, we reach my current predicament. I had one rare moment of weakness, and it was such an unfortunate occurrence as to happen in a situation where many significant details were at stake – the disruption of human lives, the destruction of human lives, and myself. Needless to say, my error cost me dearly, and I soon found myself captive at the hands of the detestable Inspector Marcus Daniels and his deplorable team from that blundering group known as Interpol. It was not my first time in incarceration, but it was the first instance in which I was actually treated as a more viable threat than most convicted individuals. Imagine my surprise and disbelief when I was finally released from my, transport, to find I had been dropped rather unceremoniously at a criminal mental hospital, of all things.

To say I was insulted would be an understatement. 

Even more humiliating was the presence of who was supposedly my psychiatrist. A thin, clumsy, stuttering excuse of a human who hid his face under a paper bag and was so woefully unprepared for the task appointed to him. His boldness surprised me, near the end of our first meeting, but that was quelled easily with the threat of bodily harm. Humans are so breakable, really. I should have snapped his neck and been done with it.

But in the high brought on by my inclination, I forgot myself and my situation and erred yet again. I attempted to change the shape of my jaw, for easier access to wrap around the beautiful, beating veins of the throat and tear it open in the most visceral, painful way. But I was thwarted as soon as I tried.

That damned collar.

So here I was, confined in a high security room reserved for the most mentally unstable and unable to do anything about it. You could imagine my frustration, perhaps, in those first few hours after I was wrestled away from the pitiful doctor and left alone to do nothing but dwell on my newfound situation.

Of course, one does not create a means of escape without first knowing every variable, so I spent much of that isolation observing every inch of my outfit, my cell, and the door. I counted every buckle keeping me restrained – six – as well as every bolt covering the only way in and out – forty-five. No windows, no manipulated patchwork in the floor or wall or ceiling, and no immediately obvious form of liberation. Everything was a lovely shade of light blue, intended for its calming effects I’m sure. Even the blasted toilet seat was the same color. It too would be unhelpful to my predicament – nothing more than a basic hole in the ground with a foot pedal for flushing. 

My mortification turned to fury rather quickly.

Unfortunately, the bloody padding was thick and smooth enough that my teeth – currently my only way of expressing my ability – could not puncture in any place I attempted. Ironically, it was not my physical strength but my…release of emotion that garnered attention.

I had admittedly overlooked the possibility of the presence of other inmates.

A few responded immediately to my outburst of anger, loud in their screaming and thumping. Whether they were declaring their presence, asserting their own dominance, or were simply emboldened by my actions I cannot say. Regardless, it was enough to startle me out of my emotions and instead pay attention to the direction and distance these sounds occurred in relation to my quarters. At least three voices, maybe more, all coming beyond the right side of the wall when I faced my cell door. Whereas I had stopped my actions quite suddenly, it took nearly five minutes for most of the others to calm themselves.

Fascinating.

Moderately satisfied with my conclusions – or as much as I could be in the present situation – I settled down on the raised cushioning that no doubt was meant to resemble a mattress. One side was raised in the imitation of a pillow, but no blanket or detachable items were available. It struck me as odd until I remembered a personal assassination of a high-ranking nobody in which I tied him with his own comforter and proceeded to suffocate him with his pillow.

Unlike the fools at Interpol or that idiot doctor, there was a semblance of competence here, at least. 

My surprise the next morning was apparent even to the densest of people when I was visited by the same psychiatrist who had pressed my patience just the previous afternoon. He was not alone this time, obviously having learned his lesson; another man in a white coat arrived at his side, along with one of the guards who had so rudely assaulted my person. They stood shoulder to shoulder like a meager mimicry of force, and I could not help the expression of amusement from outweighing my irritation.

“Back again already, are we? I didn’t take you to be that imbecilic.” I took the time to incline myself against the far wall in the perception of laziness. Nonchalance is often greatly underestimated.

“Ah, I, I did say we have to w-work out a schedule while y-you’re here,” Dr. Slys resembled a skittish antelope, rather remarkably well. “Since yesterday, uh, since we d-didn’t get to finish our, your orientation, I thought it would b-be best to try again as soon as possible. I’ve, brought another psychiatrist if, if you’d be more comfortable with someone else.”

This particular individual puffed his chest up most pathetically at the declaration of his presence. “That’s right, Doctor, and I’m here to let you know that we won’t tolerate any breach of protocol or improper behavior from our patients.” He was reckless enough to glare at me. Fool. 

In response to the feeble display at superiority I allowed myself a chuckle. “So it would seem. And what shall I call you?” He was considerably larger than Dr. Slys; at least six feet if I had accurately estimated the height of the security guard, to whom he rivalled in elevation. Nothing outstanding about his features, except perhaps the dainty silver watch along his wrist.

“I am Dr. Bautista, but you can address me as either sir or doctor.” The newest intrusion held up a clipboard in a parody of importance and clicked his pen most unprofessionally. “According to our records, you have no known history of substance abuse. Is that correct?”

His words had long stopped holding my attention, and I deemed the watch to be more significant. Not knowing the time and date can be so cumbersome. My gaze stayed fixed on the polished silver metal, waiting for the angle in which I could read it properly. The watch’s owner did not have the intelligence to realize this, as he cleared his throat in obvious frustration.

“I asked you a question, Patient 513.”

“So you did,” was my soft reply. Patient 513. How interesting, that they had already assigned me a number. No doubt an attempt to disassociate me from my former life. At yet another sound of aggravation, I flicked in the direction of the nuisance’s face. He had stepped closer, just past the human line of defense. 

“Yes I did, and I expect you to answer it.” I studied the movements of his hands, waiting for the clock face to be visible. “And I also expect you to make eye contact in a conversation. Honestly, can you believe this?” The miscreant turned to his colleague, no doubt trying for sympathy.

He got none. Instead of catering to the ego of his fellow, Dr. Slys surprised the psychiatrist, and myself, when he looked directly at me and said very sincerely, “It’s 9:47 am, on a Wednesday.”

I had already written off Dr. Bautista as useless and of no interest to me. Yesterday, I thought I had come to the same conclusion about Dr. Slys. But now he tiptoed closer, and despite the limp I saw in his gate – my doing I was certain – he did not appear bothered by the decrease in our distance. He offered his gloved hands to me, palms up.

“That’s what y-you were wondering, wasn’t it? That’s why you were, um. You wanted t-to know the time.”

To see a human again who I had attacked less than a day before was unusual. To see him willing to visit me in my own territory, backup or no, was abnormal. For him to be observant enough to recognize what I wanted, and to give it to me without negotiation in his favor, well. It was rare to the point that I found I could not ignore it.

“If I say yes, Dr. Slys, what would that matter?” I could feel the edges of my mouth part fractionally, poised to expose my only current weapon. Regardless of subject, it was dangerous for anyone to feel they had power over me. Dangerous for me, of course, but even more so for them.

“Ah, well, I j-just thought, you might want to know, since you…” His goggles fluttered briefly in the direction of his colleague’s watch, but he did not reveal me. Smart creature. “Well, I know I like kn-knowing the date, and the t-time. It’s…easier. Everyday.”

“Is that so.” I could find no lie in his expression, despite the headwear. This was the second time he had been so earnestly truthful, and the second time it had caught my attention, for what reasons I could not say. I would have to be careful with this one.

At his eager nod, a good-natured smile stretched along my visage. “Well, Doctor, I suppose I should thank you. You may ask five questions, and I will answer them.” Both psychiatrists were visibly astonished by my change in attitude, and my smile spread further. Two could play this game of catching the other unawares. 

Of course, the idiot Dr. Bautista attempted to open his mouth, but I stopped that behavior short with a hiss. “ _Dr. Slys_ may ask me five questions, and I will answer them.” He looked affronted, but had enough self-preservation to let his colleague take his place.

“Okay, um, okay.” He fretted with the serrated edges of his paper bag; a bizarre motion I had witnessed before. “I g-guess, we’ll start with what we asked earlier. Do you have any history of substance abuse, or currently using? Our records have no indications of anything.”

“No, I do not. Nasty, uncontrollable things.” I was not lying. Drugs of all forms – except alcohol, perhaps – were useful tools of destruction but entirely unpredictable in combination with my biology. One methamphetamine mixture could have no effect beyond an itch along my feet while another could leave me in the closest I’d ever experience to a seizure. There was no way of knowing which black market substances were pleasurable, painful, or nullified without personal experimentation, and I did not have enough interest in the subject to waste my time.

“Well that’s g-good,” Dr. Slys scribbled along with his fellow psychiatrist and looked me in the eye. “Next q-question. Are there any allergies we should be aware of? Food, medical, latex, etc.?”

“I have no such weaknesses, Doctor.” To even insinuate that human issue was insulting.

“Okay, um. Third question. Are there any actions you feel would be detrimental to your psyche? Some patients have a history of physical, emotional, or sexual abuse that can accidently be brought to memory in a, situation, such as restraining involving human contact or the sound of raised voices. We cannot comply with all requests, but if there is anything you think is noteworthy, we will take it in consideration. If you have a preference for the gender of your psychiatrist or physician, we can do that.”

“I do believe you offend me, Dr. Slys, to assume I am so easily triggered by petty things like those.” I had noticed that as my supposed doctor continued his query, he appeared more relaxed and confident in his posture. The stuttering had also vanished. Fascinating. “But to fully answer your question, I do not have many, requests. However, I must ask that your security keeps their hands to themselves. It was rather irritating yesterday.”

“Well, we can try our best to accommodate you, but I’m afraid that would depend on your behavior around others.” Dr. Slys moved on the weight of his heels and winced, clearly still injured. I offered him a cruel twist of lips. “Okay, so that’s about it for the preliminary. Now about your schedule, I was – we were thinking that the best option would be to start with a bi-weekly counseling session in your room, with me and possibly Dr. Bautista depending on…conduct. I would also suggest a three-hour period of recreational activity every day, and we can work out the activities at the beginning of each day. Perhaps after a full evaluation of mental and physical stability, we can include group therapy and/or outdoor privileges as well. Would you agree with this tentative schedule plan? Your first counseling session would be with me tomorrow at 11 am.”

I pretended to consider it, to assume as they did that I would be actually be imprisoned any longer than a week. “Yes, I suppose that is a plausible arrangement. How long would you estimate my sessions with you to last?” I tilted my head, amusement broadcasted freely.

“Roughly about an hour and a half, give or take.” To my surprise and admitted delight, he looked at me with narrow, calculating eyes and continued, “And I expect we’ll be having them for a long time, Mr. Black Hat. You shouldn’t underestimate our facility.”

I should have been incensed by his calling out of the real meaning of my question, but frankly I found it interesting. Here was a human who understood at least the basic rules of how I played. That he had willingly defied my orders the day before and was now matching my serve with a fair enough return was not as bothersome as I had earlier considered.

“Very well, Doctor. You may ask your final question.” I crossed my legs on the imitation mattress, nearly finished with our conversation, lovely as it was. But what he asked next caught me off guard.

“In your case file, it mentioned you had named flying as your favorite mode of transportation. Why is that?”

I could not help the bemused twitch of my eyebrows nor the brief, startled blink that passed my face. Dr. Slys waited patiently for me to recover, and the colleague at his side appeared just as rightly confused. 

There was no gain or loss to be had by answering this, so I settled with a shrug and laid back, studying the unusual human. “Flying is statistically the safest method of travel.” He looked at me, and I looked at him. My mouth parted. “At least until it hits the ground.”

His gloved hands tightened on his clipboard in what I assumed was anxiety. Imagine my surprise when he let out a solitary laugh, not much more than a breach of air past his lips. It stopped just as suddenly as it started, and the doctor seemed shocked at his own action.

“Is something funny, Dr. Slys? I didn’t know humans could find a plane crash humorous.”

My psychiatrist was nervous now, and fretted yet again with that silly headwear, but still he responded despite the abrupt suspicion placed on his shoulders.

“I j-just thought it was a coincidence, a-a bit of a funny connection.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Unfortunately, my doctor has already shown to be more observant than he looks, because he shut his mouth promptly – I could even hear the click of teeth – and returned to his notes in an attempt to protect himself. His colleague was not so perceptive, however, and gave up the doctor’s secret.

“Hey, doesn’t your name mean a plane wreck? Like in German or something?”

Dr. Slys squeaked most unbecomingly, but it was too late. As someone who prides myself on my knowledge of social etiquette and culture, I knew most languages thoroughly, and those of Indo-European roots were no exception.

“A flugzeugabsturz?” I gave my psychiatrist a lengthy once-over, considering him. “No, your last name is Slys. But you pronounced it as the English adoption. So how…?” As I calculated, Dr. Slys’ body language grew more nervous, apprehensive even. “Perhaps not German, then.” The answer came to me just as my doctor appeared ready to flee, and I smiled.

“Icelandic, I do believe.” My delight heightened at the stiffness setting in his legs. “Plane crash. Flugslys. Dr. Flug Slys.” I practically purred the word. “Do tell me, since you pronounce your last name so hideously, does your first name follow its Icelandic rule, or is it more barbaric? Floooog.” My psychiatrist shuffled backwards to the door. “Fl-ugh.” 

That was it. That was how he introduced himself. I watched, twitching grin wrapping my face as Dr. Flug Slys grabbed his oblivious colleague and the forgotten guard and hauled them out. There is a lot of power in names, you see, and he seemed to know it as much as I did. The two doctors stood just outside my cell and whispered hushed nothings while I laughed longer and louder than I had since my capture.

“It truly is a pleasure, Flug Slys!” I raised my voice, standing and gliding to the center of the room. I could see the top half of brown paper through my window. “I look forward, to our first real session tomorrow. You are a fun one indeed, Dr. Flug.”

Every use of his name sent my psychiatrist into a flinch until he disappeared from my sight and I heard his retreating, feathery footsteps leave the hall. The mirth from the encounter left me in a much better mood than I had expected while confined here. Perhaps I would not be so short of entertainment.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough, in my honest and humble opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago I read a book from the view of four different people. Three of them were in 1st person, the last was in 3rd person. I really liked the idea, and I'll be trying it out here, but reversed. Only Black Hat's thoughts will be in 1st person.
> 
> I made him a little more eloquent in his thoughts and speech than in canon, but I think I can get away with it here. He's still really fun to write but dang I have to fight him for it sometimes.
> 
> (Also holy crap, over 100 Kudos already?! You guys are so amazing :3)  
> Anywho, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think! Till next time.


	5. Masquerades and Guessing Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug has a scheduled meeting with one patient and an unscheduled confrontation with another. It's not hard to guess who.

The trek from Black Hat’s cell to Flug’s office usually took four minutes, give or take. The psychiatrist didn’t know if his panic attack would wait that long. 

“Dr. Slys, wait! Why are you walking so fast?” Dr. Bautista hurried after him, hard-pressed to keep up even with his height advantage. “Please, Doctor, we should review our notes, slow down!”

He refused to slow down, refused to even look at his colleague until they were stuck together in the elevator. Flug almost considered taking the stairs, but his office was on the first floor and he didn’t want to have a breakdown in an echoing stairway where people could hear. Even so, stepping into the lift with this man was a true test of patience.

“Jesus, Doctor, what’s the hurry? We got what we wanted, the schedule’s made, everything’s fine.” Bautista watched, bemused, as his distraught colleague pounded at the buttons. “I don’t understand what your problem is.”

“Oh, my problem? _My_ problem?” Flug snarled at the control panel in lieu of his frustrating companion. “My problem, Doctor, is that a d-dangerous, volatile patient learned my full name when I didn’t want him to. A p-patient, who, if I may I remind you, has only ever been incarcerated for less than a week and who ruined the life of his last psychiatrist.” He slumped against the metal wall as the elevator dropped, clamping his hands against his bag and pulling hard. “And he’s already tried to kill me once yesterday. Who’s to say he won’t try again?”

Dr. Bautista waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry so much, Doctor. That’s why we’re being careful, so you’re not alone with him anymore. He can’t try anything here.”

“Yeah, ‘here’ being the keyword.” Flug took his clipboard from under his arm and flipped hurriedly to a page full of Black Hat’s crimes. “See this? See how many people he’s killed? That’s only the _documented_ ones, they suspect a whole lot more, you know!” The lift dinged open and the doctor slipped out. Bautista followed him. “Who’s to say he won’t come after me if he escapes, when he escapes, whatever!”

“I really think you’re overreacting,” was the grumbled reply. “This place has never seen a successful break-out, and most inmates hold grudges for officers, not psychologists. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t given your first name to patients before.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything, and I don’t gamble.” The yellow gloves were stretched up to Flug’s elbows and he didn’t stop walking when they reached Bautista’s office first. “I’ll email you my notes so you can look over them, but I need to get ready for a counseling session. Thanks for joining me.”

“Oh hey, wait a second,” Bautista called out after him, causing the doctor to hesitate. “You’re going to visit Patient 243, right? Would you be willing to take Martin Naaji with you, for work experience? He’s my intern.”

“Uh…Martin, curly black hair, short, darker skin?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s pretty new so I had him help the nurses out with dispensing medication two days ago, but I heard it didn’t go so well.” Bautista shrugged. “Personally I think the kid’s a lost cause, but he’s here for another two months and I’m trying to find things for him to do.”

 _Well, that explains a lot_ , Flug scowled under his bag. “Sure, sure, just tell him to be at my door by 10:50 sharp. If he doesn’t show then that’s not my fault.”

“Will do, Doctor.” His colleague whistled obliviously as he disappeared into his room, and Flug seriously considered putting in a request for a different companion. He decided against it by the time he got back to his office. The man was of a much larger build than him and every bit of muscle would help, regardless of his lack of subtlety.

He stepped inside his personal space, locked his door, and promptly lost his cool.

Less than an hour later, when Martin knocked on his door at 10:49, Flug had reorganized every book on his shelf by publication date instead of the author title as it was previously, wiped down all hardwood surfaces with Clorox as well as the doorknob, cleaned the little window view of the parking lot, and systematically cut perfect, symmetrical goggle holes through fifteen spare paper bags, just in case. 

He had been prepared for the intrusion but his jittery energy had yet to fully dissipate and the knock nearly made him fall out of his chair with a yelp. He hurried to correct himself and brushed off his lab coat, folding his hands formally in front of him.

“Come in!”

The knob turned only a quarter of a fraction before it forcefully stopped, and Flug remembered a little too late that he had indeed locked the door.

With a stumble and a quiet “dang it” the psychiatrist scooted around his desk and reached the door in four long strides. He opened it in a flurry and came face to face with the same wide eyes he had scolded two days ago.

“Um.” Martin took a cautious step back. “Hello.”

“H-Hello.” The doctor attempted to look a little more professional by putting his hands in his coat pockets. It didn’t really work. “So, uh…hello.”

The intern looked at the ground, nervous. “Um, so are we going or…?”

“Oh! Yes, I,” Flug turned and rushed back to his desk, scooping up Dementia’s case file and his notepad. He brushed past the teenager and closed the door. “Sorry, sorry, I’m uh, just let me lock the door real quick and we can go.”

“Okay,” Martin had his feet against each other, swaying a little. He tensed to attention when the psychiatrist started down the hall and followed meekly behind. “So…is this okay?

“What do you mean?” Flug tried not to touch his bag as they walked.

“It’s just…isn’t there patient confidentiality?”

“Oh. Well, yes, but we asked Dementia if she’d give disclosure to let interns sit in on her counseling session or review the notes we share for experience, and she agreed. You, ah.” He squinted sideways at the teenager. “You’re the first one who was willing. For her case.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean, I was assigned to this by my superior. But that’s cool, I guess.” They shared the ride up to Floor 5 in awkward, heavy silence. When the doors opened again, Flug stepped out and touched Martin’s shoulder to stop him.

“Listen, I, uh, we met under…unfortunate circumstances t-two days ago and I – I don’t regret what I said, I meant every word of that, but, it’s a new day and I don’t…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. The intern stared just under his line of sight, nervous. “Okay, um, what I mean to say is, I’d rather we don’t think of that, encounter, while we’re here together. I know you don’t want to be here with me, and that’s – that’s fine if you don’t like me at all, it’s, I don’t care. But please try to relax when we visit Dementia.”

Martin made real eye contact and his mouth parted in surprise. “Oh, um…okay. I can do that.”

“Good, c-cause she gets wound up really easily when other people are tense and it’s hard to tell sometimes, I mean, sometimes she tries to exploit that and sometimes it makes her wary and withdrawn and I, I really don’t want to have to deal with that, so – ”

“No, I get it.” The intern’s gaze dropped resignedly. “I’ll wait outside her room, if that makes you happier.” He shuffled away from his superior and tightened his lips together.

“Ah no, you don’t need to…actually, that might be a good idea for you to stay away.” Flug winced internally at the way that came out. “I mean, uh, maybe I’ll talk to her first, let her know you want to join us. We’ll see how it turns out.”

“Sure.” Martin didn’t pick his gaze back up as they made their way to Dementia’s cell. The doctor peered through the bars and didn’t see anyone inside. He leaned forward right at the same moment a maniacal, screaming face popped up in front of the window.

“HEY FLUG!!”

“Gah!” The poor psychiatrist reeled backward and nearly crashed into the spooked intern behind him. He recovered fairly quickly and threw his hands in the air. “Dementia! What have I told you about doing that?!”

“Not to do it,” the girl cackled, tongue poking playfully through her teeth.

“Then why did you?” He crossed his arms.

“Because of the noise you make.” 

Flug pressed the top of the clipboard against his face, exasperated and exhausted. It wasn’t even noon yet. “Okay, that’s wonderful, really great to know that’s what you value about me.” 

“Aww Flug, I’m just teasing, you know I love –” Dementia froze with the ‘you’ forming in her lips as she locked eyes with Martin, just past her doctor. Her playful demeanor drained to something very, very cold. “The hell is he doing here?”

“He’s here to –”

“What the hell are you doing here, Newbie?! Who do you think you are?!” She screamed at him, whole body pressed rigid against the door with a slam. “Wanna try me again, huh! Wanna grab hold of my mouth again, I bet that gets you off real good, you sick fuck!”

“Dementia! He’s not going to do anything!” Flug took one look back at Martin, who had plastered himself against the opposite wall, shameful and scared. The doctor put his head in front of the frothing girl, blocking her view of everything except his bag. “Calm down, please!”

“Why is he here, Flug? What is he doing here?!”

“He’s here to apologize, that’s what he’s here for, calm down!” They faced each other, her nose practically touching the paper on his face. “I’m not going to let him try anything, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Her eyes trembled like furious candlelight. “You promise?”

“I do, I promise.”

“¡Júrame!” It was a snarl, a desperate command.

“Te lo juro, te lo juro.” Flug lifted his goggles just barely, so she could see his sincere, serious brown eyes beneath. “Nadie puede herirte aquí.”

“Better stick to that,” she spat out, irritated but backing down. The girl stepped back from the window and took several angry steps to her bed, where she sat and glared at him. The doctor adjusted his glass-wear back into place over his eyes before turning around. Martin remained at the wall, face open and agitated.

“Listen, uh, I think it might be best if you stay, um by the door for a while, while I talk to her. Don’t, ah, don’t let her see you through the window, please.”

The intern nodded, lips twitching together, and came over slowly. With prompting he sat down next to the cell door, eyes downcast, and Flug patted his shoulder in awkward sympathy before unlocking the room and stepping inside. He closed it behind him and glanced over to the angry, pouting girl who was now staring at a far point on the wall.

So, uh…” The doctor sidled up about a meter from her mattress and settled down onto crossed legs cautiously. “Having nightmares recently?”

“What makes you say that,” she mumbled, refusing to look his way.

“Well, when the incident actually happened, you seemed a lot calmer about it afterwards than you are today.” Flug tapped fingers against his thigh. “So I’m guessing the last few nights have been rough.”

“Pff, what do you know.” Dementia leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling now. They remained silent for a minute before she had the courage to speak up again. “I dunno, I just…it’s hard sometimes. Dreams are hard sometimes. Cause I can’t do anything about them. Can’t control them.” She laughed, short and self-deprecating. “Not like I can control much else about me anyway.”

“Anything, anything noteworthy? Or that you want to work through? Get off your chest?”

“Nah, just same-old, same-old.” The girl nuzzled her chin into the collar of her straitjacket. “That stupid intern showed up in one, but it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t,” her eyes darted briefly in Flug’s direction and darted away. “He didn’t really do anything. In the dream. Was just there in the background.”

The doctor bobbed his head, quiet and respectful. They lapsed into silence again until she flipped over to lay on her back, head half hanging upside down off her bed in his direction. “Hey, Flug?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever get bad dreams?” 

“Oh, all the time,” he looked at her. “Being a psychiatrist is stressful, you know. Especially here.”

“No, I mean…” Dementia blew stray bangs out of her face to give him a serious stare. “I mean about before here. Back when, when it wasn’t as safe.”

Flug opened his mouth to respond truthfully, but stopped himself and gave a nervous glance towards the door. He didn’t know how much could be heard out there, and he really didn’t want Martin – or any staff, really – to know things he wouldn’t normally share.

Dementia seemed to understand why he hesitated, because she wriggled closer until her back was on the ground and her legs trailed up and over the mattress. Her head was right next to his crossed knee, curious eyes watching him attentively.

“Well, I don’t know about this place being that safe for me,” Flug offered, pitching his voice a little quieter. “But yeah, before all this it was…really hard sometimes. I had a, a lot going on that I’m not super proud of, that I don’t want to get into for,” he glanced at the door again. “For personal reasons.”

The girl nodded sagely, in understanding brought only by experience, and he continued.

“And it’s not as bad as it used to be, the nightmares I mean. Sometimes they sneak up on me, and sometimes it’s hard not to think about, those times.” He reached up and lightly trailed a line down the cheek of his bag. “But I just have to remind myself that there’s a today, and a tomorrow, and they don’t have to be related to what happened yesterday, or last week, or whatever. I know it’s really cliché to say time is a good healer, but it is a good starting point, at least for me. Does that make sense?”

Dementia turned her head slowly, face searching somewhere beyond him. “I think so, yeah.” She locked eyes with him. “So why do you wear your bag? Is it related to the bad stuff?”

“Well, the bag isn’t really related, per se, but I don’t think I should answer that.” Flug looked down at her, at the sad, reserved expression she wore only when things were starting to be too much. He was very familiar with that look himself. “You’ve asked me about it before, way back when. I will tell you someday, I promise, but right now I don’t think I have the courage.”

“The courage to show me?”

“The courage to remind myself.”

“Oh.” Dementia worked those words over in her mind, and a small, crooked smile quirked up one side of her face. “Well, I better be the first one when you do. It’s only fair, after everything I’ve told you.”

“Trust me, Dementia, if I ever get that brave, you will probably be the only person I show it to.” He took a moment to move his lab coat to a better position across his shoulders, then looked at his mostly-forgotten clipboard. “I had an outline for our session today, but I don’t think we’re really going to follow it. What do you want to do?”

“Mm…” She bit her lip and looked at the door. Something distantly related to pity appeared in her face. “If I didn’t scare the newbie away, maybe…maybe I’ll listen to his apology.” The girl glared up at her doctor good-naturedly. “Doesn’t mean I’ll accept it! Just wanna hear him grovel.”

“Oh absolutely.” Flug stood up and brushed the wrinkles from his pants. He strode over to the door and waited until Dementia sat up and gave him a verbal confirmation to open it. As the doctor stuck his head out, he saw Martin slumped against the wall with his head in his arms between his knees. 

The intern lifted his head when the psychiatrist cleared his throat. “Do you…does she want me to leave?”

“No, she’s willing to talk to you.” Flug offered a hand up, which the teen took. “But I want you to stay at least five meters away from her, hands by your sides at all times, and the first words out of your mouth need to be an apology. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Martin agreed hastily, rubbing his arms as if chilled. He ducked inside the room behind the doctor like a wraith. The inmate and the intern made eye contact, and a rambling burst of energy spilled out of the teen’s lips. 

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am, I shouldn’t have tried to force you to do anything! And I shouldn’t have touched you that was unprofessional and wrong and I, it…” he ducked into himself, embarrassed with both gazes on him. “I’m…I really hurt you, didn’t I?”

Dementia snorted. “Takes a lot more than a sissy-boy to hurt me, Chiquito, but it’s something.” She stood and ventured closer, keeping Flug between them like a buffer. “Martin, is it? You’re kinda scrawny. Are you sure you’re cut out for this job?”

“Um,” the intern looked to his superior for help, but the psychiatrist was trying not to laugh. She had said almost the same thing to him months ago. “I don’t…thank you? I can manage.”

“I sure hope so, kid, cause I’m one of the nicer ones.” She shook her head and long hair spiraled out around her. Flug rolled his eyes.

“Funny, I thought you were one of the tough ones.”

“I’m both, you dense doctor, I’m well-rounded.” Dementia shimmied in place, pretending to pose like a model. It was quite the sight with her attire. “Anyway, I’m bored now, so either pick a spot and pop a squat or get the hell out of my room. I’m not wasting any more time in my appointment with the only reliable guy here.”

Martin sat where he was, startled, and at his quizzical look the girl smiled like a shark and dove onto her bed. “You think I don’t know what interns do? I’m just surprised you didn’t bring a notebook, you’re not very prepared.” She scooted her feet up and propped her chin on her knees. “Flug, get your butt over here, you’re the one getting paid for this.”

A little under an hour and a half later, the two employees stepped out as Dementia smacked her feet together in lieu of clapping. “Bye Flug! See you soon! Bye Martin Maje! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

Martin waved half-heartedly as the doctor locked the cell, then whispered quickly, “What does ‘maje’ mean?”

“Ehhh, don’t worry about it.” Flug adjusted his bag and shrugged one shoulder, fidgeting uncomfortably. “She gives, um, nicknames to people sometimes. Don’t take it personally, it means she likes you.”

“O-Okay,” the intern looked confused but dropped it. “So, now what? Do we go over the session? Do I tell you what I think? What’s next?”

“…You don’t know what comes next?” The psychiatrist was baffled by this.

“Well I haven’t, been here very long and Dr. Bautista…” Martin looked at the window of Dementia’s door. “He doesn’t really give me much to go on. Just, ‘go help this person with this’ or ‘go ask the nurses for something to do’. I haven’t done much, really.”

“Oh.” Oh indeed. Flug was really starting to regret accepting his offer to help with the other case. “Well, I’ll talk to him, maybe work out a more concrete schedule. How’s that?”

The intern’s face lifted just a little, then fell. “Ah, thanks but um, I don’t want to get in your way. Especially not after I screwed up with your patient.”

“I’m just glad she accepted your apology,” the doctor said bluntly. “And I’m not going to lie, I’m still upset about that. But we really need all the help we can get here and I’d rather you know what you’re doing than…whatever you’ve been doing the last few days…week? How long have you been here?”

“Six days.”

“Ah, okay. Yeah. That’s, that’s it then.” They started working their way down the hall and Flug continued. “I might just let Dr. Rorschach know you need stuff to do, she’ll probably be better to help than me. Not that – not that I don’t care I just, have a lot on my plate right now.”

The poor psychiatrist had a sixth sense for bad timing, he’d swear up and down, because at that moment there was a distinct hair-raising, ear-splitting shriek from the other end of the hall that was all too familiar. Flug made a pained expression as Martin whipped around in that direction.

“What – what was that?!”

“That would be one of my patients.” He handed his clipboard to the shocked intern and pushed him towards the elevator. “You go ahead back to my office and look over my notes. Get a pad and write down questions or thoughts, save it to show me later. I uh, I need to take care of this.”

“Oh, do you, do you want help or –”

“No! No no no, I appreciate it but please no!” Flug shook his head frantically, not wanting to imagine bringing this inexperienced kid anywhere near Black Hat. “Just, j-just go back downstairs, please, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Um, alright,” Martin complied and started walking reluctantly, and the doctor waited until he was safely in the elevator before putting his hands to his face and moving to the opposite end. There was another shriek and he grimaced.

The lights above the reinforced cells were dimmer than Flug remembered them being just that morning. He stopped carefully in front of the sole occupied room and peeped inside discreetly. Black Hat was there in the other side of his padded prison, kicking angrily at his mattress and straining hard against his straitjacket. His collar blinked but didn’t make a sound.

“Um, Mr. Black Hat?”

The inmate went still in his movements and cracked his head around in a near one-eighty. His face, contorted in rage, restrained itself to a neutral, unreadable position.

“Doctor Flug. To what do I owe the displeasure?” His body turned to match his head, and the psychiatrist winced at the noise it made. “I was under the impression we wouldn’t see each other until the date set tomorrow.”

“Oh, w-well, I happened to b-be here and you…” Flug looked at the abused bed. “Uh, I heard a y-yell, and I was j-just checking in.”

Black Hat’s mouth gave a spasm, but whether in the direction of a smile or a frown it was hard to tell. “I see. Well, I will take more care to keep my grievances to myself, until I feel the need to share them.”

“Good, that’s…good. Is there, uh,” he swallowed. “Is there anything else you need?”

“What I need is not something you’d provide, Doctor.” His patient was settling down a little, at least in energy. He was no longer as rigid. “I highly doubt you’d be willing to entertain my possession of an alternative set of clothing. This one is quite, restrictive.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point,” Flug mumbled before he could catch himself. He jolted when his brain caught up and put his hands to his mouth, horrified. “I mean, I d-didn’t mean to say that, I –”

“Oh it’s quite alright, Doctor Flug, I prefer honesty.” Black Hat looked vaguely amused again. He stepped closer to the door and the doctor pushed down the urge to take a matching step away. “Which reminds me; you were not very truthful about your identity. Refusing to share your full name? Tut, tut. Rather deceiving, Flug.”

Every use of his first name sent a shiver up his back. “I r-really wasn’t being untruthful, Mr. B-Black Hat. Just evading a f-full answer.”

“I suppose I cannot dispute that,” There was another step. “But now that it’s out in the open, I have to say it’s been intriguing me. It is an abnormal name, after all. Were your parents aware of its meaning?”

Flug clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t letting anything else get past him. His inmate stepped forward some more, only a meter or so from the door.

“Is it a birth name? A changed name? An alias, perhaps?” _Step, step_. Black Hat was at the window now, hot breath curling out and under the paper bag. The doctor clenched his hands into his coat to keep the flinch from escaping. “Oh come now, Flug. Surely you can’t expect me to believe there are no curious circumstances. Flug Slys is too much of a word to be a name.”

Flug took a loud, slow inhale. “You could say the same thing about Black Hat.”

“Ah, true,” the patient’s mouth curled like the Grinch, “but I use that name for stage and show, something you pitiful humans can wrap your heads around. I highly doubt your situation is similar.”

“Well, m-maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” His knuckles were white. “But that’s as much as y-you need to know. I’m not – I’m not going to l-let anything else be c-compromised.” He squared himself, trying to look braver than he felt. “Got that?”

They were very close now, face to face just as he had been with Dementia. But there was a different kind of test here, an alternate set of rules. Flug had to learn them before he fell behind, because he had the distinct sense that losing was not an option.

Black Hat’s one visible eye was half-lidded lazily, but through the illusion the doctor could see his pupil searching, studying, sifting into everything he had foolishly allowed to be seen. The smile turned to a grin deliberately sluggish, and the inmate made a noise deep in his throat. It could have been mistaken for a purr if one was suicidal enough.

“Yes, Doctor Flug, I understand very well. You are a man of mystery, keeping your secrets close and your half-truths even closer.” A forked tongue could be seen only briefly behind the deadly teeth. “It will be fun prying every single one from your trembling, broken hands.”

Flug’s hands were so tightly curled in his coat he could feel nails pressing into his palm through the gloves and the fabric. “That’s f-fine, Black Hat, but I h-hope you realize that it’s a t-two way street.”

“Oh I’ve no doubt about that,” the patient backed away from the bars. “But if I recall that will not begin until tomorrow. Official appointments and all that.”

He turned away and only then did Flug release his lab coat from his death grip, taking a few shaky steps of his own, putting distance between himself and the door. He shook as he shuffled away, fiddling with the crumpled ends of his mistreated coat. Behind him, Black Hat cleared his throat.

“Until next time, dear doctor. Ta.”

And so for the third time in two days Flug left that room, shaking and quiet and traitorously, treacherously excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Júrame” means "swear to me", “Te lo juro” means "I swear to you" and “Nadie puede herirte aquí" means "no one can hurt you here". Thought it was important enough to translate here instead of leaving it up to you guys.
> 
> Also I hope you all hate Dr. Bautista as much as I did writing him, because I really hate him. It's fun.
> 
> Just a heads up, the next few weeks are going to be very busy for me, so I might be a day or two late with upcoming chapters. Please don't be alarmed. Thank you all for reading!


	6. Therapy 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the big day.

_10:50 am_

Flug tapped energetic fingers against the doorknob of his office, debating whether arriving early would be seen as a sign of preparedness, eagerness or desperation. He had been ready to go for over half an hour and was trying very hard not to rush up. He looked at his digital clock on the desk and counted the individual seconds as they passed. The moment the minute changed to 10:51 he could stand it no more and left his sanctuary in a burst of anticipation. 

As he started down the hall, a familiar, unwanted coworker came around the corner.

“Oh, Dr. Slys!” Bautista gave a cheerful smile, “I was just on my way to collect you for the session.”

“Um,” the doctor stopped as he was approached. “I thought you got my email last night.”

“Sure did, about my intern? I think it’s a great idea, giving Lauren the kid to deal with. Thanks for the help.” The larger man flicked a thumb briefly against his nose and sniffed.

“I said it’d be a good idea to ask for her input not, not just dump Mart – your intern on her. That’s still your responsibility.” Flug rocked back on his heels to look up, squinting irritably. “And please refer to her as Dr. Rorschach. She’s our superior.”

“Eh, I’ll call people whatever I want. Don’t worry your paper head about it.” There was a dismissive hand wave in his direction. “Anyway, you ready to go? I’m excited to get this one to crack.”

“I thought you said you read my email.”

“Yeah, I skimmed it, why?”

“Well I,” the psychiatrist wrung his hands up his clipboard, “I did some thinking yesterday and I mentioned this in the email, but I…” God, he hated confrontations in person. “I think it might be better if we, if I was the only one working with Black Hat, at least today.”

His colleague’s smile was waxen. “What do you mean, Doctor?”

“The patient seems a lot more comfortable with me than anyone else already, and you – you let some information slip that I didn’t want him to learn.”

“What, your name? Come now, Flug, that’s not really that important –”

“It is, it is to me, alright?” Flug couldn’t quite keep the biting tone out of his voice. “Look, I’m grateful for your help yesterday, I really am, but I really don’t think this case will need more than one psychiatrist. I’m sorry for interrupting your schedule so much already.”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Bautista peered at him, smile gone now. “But I was under the impression that Patient 513 is incredibly dangerous and needs extra caution. I mean, you wouldn’t shut up about it yesterday. What changed, Flug?”

 _I don’t trust you to do your job_ , was the thought that made the doctor’s jaw clench, unseen. But he answered instead with, “I’m worried about the casualty count with so many people. I’m still planning to keep a security guard in the room with me, but if the patient prefers only one psychiatrist – which seems to be the case – I won’t refuse his request unless it becomes unreasonable or dangerous. I hope you understand.”

They stood facing each other, stock still, one face masked and serious and the other slowly turning a shade of violent red.

“I’m taking this up with Lauren,” Bautista threatened, eyes dark. “You think I’m incompetent, Flug? Think I’ll drag your perfect little record down? See how smug you are with a filed complaint against you.”

Flug’s fingers twitched at his side. “I’d be willing to discuss it with you and Dr. Rorschach, when time permits. I’m sure we can come to a compromise for everyone. But I’ve already requested the changes to the director. I’m sorry, but I have an appointment with a patient and I’m going to be late.”

He had to skirt along the wall to avoid touching his angry colleague, who refused to budge to make space for him. The psychiatrist felt a bitter, biting gaze on him until he turned the corner, and his teeth grinded together at the absurd politics of it all.

This was why he worked better with the inmates. Fewer games.

...

I was not able to sleep more than two hours at a time after my third encounter with my would-be therapist. Of course, that is not to say I had slept particularly well the evening before, either – plans of escape and wariness of a new environment puts a damper on one’s ability to relax, after all. But last night I was up for a very different reason.

Ninety minutes with this human who has so strangely caught my interest. 

I must say I could not predict what that would entail. I have been the subject of attempted “psychological analysis” before, but it had been more of a plan by the authorities to draw a confession from me. When I realized this, I had only done the logical thing before making my escape.

Dr. Hyde passed away recently from medical complications, if I’m not mistaken.

But this…I could not detect an ulterior motive from Dr. Flug Slys. It might have been good acting on his part – highly unlikely – or a misjudgment on mine – nearly impossible. It is not something I encounter often among humans, regardless of their social status. Today would be an excellent chance for me to probe at him as he struggled to do the same. I was going to learn about this man, and why he was so fascinating, and how I might use that to my advantage.

It would be a lovely way to pass the time until my inevitable liberation from this depressing place.

When my doctor unlocked my cell door and fumbled pitifully inside with another guard, I was waiting impatiently in the center of the room.

“You’re late,” I hissed in mild irritation. I did not have access to a clock here, not yet, but I felt this truth in my being. The resulting apologetic flinch confirmed my instinct.

“Ah, yeah sorry, I was d-dealing with a…an internal issue. It t-took longer than I thought it would.” Dr. Flug rubbed his arm in sheepish cowering. He appeared distracted and I could not have that.

“Then you would do well to remember where your priorities lie, Flug. Tardiness is unacceptable.”

“Of c-course, of course,” he gave me a long look, and I smirked in return. “So I guess we should g-get started then, um. Are you, would you prefer t-to stand there or would you rather sit down? It’s a long session.”

“I’m aware of how long it is, Flug. Don’t patronize me.” I watched the armed guard carefully. “I don’t feel comfortable setting myself up so vulnerably while that man is present. I will sit when he leaves.”

“Oh sorry, we c-can’t do that. I – we can’t have a repeat of t-two days ago. It’s just a precaution until we can c-confirm our safety, you understand.” My doctor raised and lowered his clipboard several times. “But m-maybe I can have him s-stand by the door while w-we talk, if you’re willing to c-cooperate.”

“I suppose I can’t ask for much more than that,” I conceded begrudgingly. They really were getting smarter. What a shame. “Very well, I will sit over here, on my…mattress, if you will at least step away from your bodyguard for a more private conversation.”

“Sounds, uh, sounds fair.” But Flug waited until I had taken the initiative and placed myself on the raised padding before coming any closer. There was still a light limp to his step that sent a thrill of satisfaction through my wrapped hands. 

I crossed my legs and smiled pleasantly. “So Dr. Flug, where is your colleague? I had assumed he would be here. Or is he prone to lateness as well?”

Something tense settled in my doctor’s shoulders. “Dr. Bautista won’t be joining us today, or h-hopefully any day. You, uh, if I can make the observation,” he cocked his head at me, “you didn’t seem to like him very much.”

“You may make that observation, and I will confirm it. Your coworker is a buffoon.” I watched as he tensed further. There was an expression in the reflection of his goggles that I couldn’t yet pinpoint.

“Oh no, he’s an intelligent man, please don’t say that,” Flug held his clipboard to where his mouth might be under that bag. “He just, we just thought it would be easier to have one psychiatrist in this session instead of two.”

“Please. That man’s egotism is plastered over every exaggerated action he makes. I’ve seen it before, and have no interest in tolerating it.”

As I watched, my doctor’s left hand reached up to run along the bottom rim of his bag, and he risked a glance at the present security, who was not interested nor interesting. When he looked back to me, I saw his hesitance become conviction.

“Is there…anything else that concerns you? Is that the only reason you don’t want him to sit in on our sessions?” Calculation. Determination. Motive. He wanted my answers for something, and I couldn’t hazard a guess at what that was.

Intrigued, I responded. “There are many reasons I have no interest in him, Dr. Flug. He has no sense of subtlety, for one, and cannot grasp at the concepts of perception and observation. Not a promising aspect of someone trained to rehabilitate criminals.”

My doctor was furiously writing my reply, possibly word for word by the way his pencil moved. He finished shortly and glanced upwards. “Is that, is that it?”

“No sincerity, either. I wouldn’t trust him with my scheduled mealtimes, much less my personal details.” As he continued scribing every accusation, I studied the way his shoulders remained tense, excited almost. The expression I had seen past his bag was increasing tenfold, and my eyebrows lifted as I recognized it.

It was mirth. He was trying to keep from laughing, trying to keep himself from revealing to me or our guard that he was enjoying this. I took the challenge.

“Would you like to know what else?” I asked innocently. Flug nodded, fast then slow, careful not to appear too eager. I uncrossed my legs. “He has no regard for you, and I assume that extends to his other coworkers as well.” I watched in glee as his hold on his pencil tightened in subconscious agreement. “He does not realize what the risks are in this job, nor what it means for you when he so offhandedly gave me the way to learn your name.”

There was a stop in the sound of granite on paper, and my psychiatrist looked up at me warily. He hadn’t forgotten our exchange yesterday, it seemed. I had not either, and although I still very much wanted to know the origin of his name, I bypassed the question in the air to ask a different one.

“May I ask why you want to know so much about your colleague, Doctor?”

“Oh, um,” Flug danced from one sneakered foot to the other. “We j-just like to document c-complaints from patients a-about…everything. For reference and uh, review.”

So he planned to use my testimony as leverage against his coworker. Without my permission. Unbelievable. In any other situation, I would have been provoked at best and murderous at worst. Even now, I could feel indignation bubbling up in a familiar spill. 

“So my words will be shared with others without my consent?” I didn’t stand but drew my shoulders to full form. Irritation oozed along my tongue. “Are you telling me, Flug, that patient confidentiality means so little here?”

The little imp jerked back as if I’d scorched him. “No, n-no I didn’t – that’s not w-what I meant a-at all! I –”

“Perhaps not, but it’s what will happen, you naïve idiot.” I trembled to keep myself on the mattress. Any action that could be perceived as threatening would cut our time short, and I did not yet want that. Still, staying my hand was difficult.

“If y-you d-don’t want your p-preferences r-reviewed, I c-can keep it p-private!” Flug shook like the pathetic waif he was. His knees knocked together, making a sound that set my teeth on edge. I wanted to break them. 

“You better see that it does, Flug, or else I will not be so hospitable,” My hands curled, sharp and stuck under their abhorrent restraints. “I will let you know when I want or don’t want something, and I will be very clear about it. Don’t you ever use my words without my permission.”

“I, I won’t,” the human took a moment to try to calm his tremors. “I p-promise I won’t.”

“Good. I’ll know if you’re lying.” I took my own moment, to let the anger drain from a cascade to its more regular hum. It was hard when my doctor couldn’t stop _knocking his goddamn knees._ “Would you kindly _stop_ shaking, Flug!”

He sat down where he was, in the middle of the room, and the vexing sounds ceased. As my breath slowed and my irritation diminished, I noticed that Flug was forced to tilt his chin up to meet my gaze. I looked down at him and felt…hmm.

“What?” My doctor blinked quizzically and I schooled my expression with practiced ease. 

“Nothing, Doctor. Simply grateful you can follow orders so promptly.” How curious. My sense of dominance was fairly common when I had power over a human in any form. Here, I could not deny that I had little hold of Flug beyond basic fear, but his position now brought forth that feeling of control, shallow but present at the base of my hat. I knew very well the influence of posture and placement in displays of dominance, but this felt distinctly different than usual.

Fascinating.

Of course, Flug took that moment to stand back up, destroying the bizarre scene and the thoughts it evoked. I waited impassively as he collected himself and filed away this discovery to consider later, when I was left alone again.

“Alright so,” my psychiatrist gave me a guarded, narrowed stare. I wondered what he might have picked up on. “I think it m-might be best if we move onto a – a different topic.”

I didn’t grace that with a response, and it made him nervous.

“Okay, um, okay. Let’s t-talk about,” Flug tapped at his left heel with his right toe. “Actually, how about you p-pick?”

This was new. I had never been asked to decide the source of discussion in meetings with ‘the right side of the law’. But it was irrelevant. I was finished with this session as soon as I learned my words would be used. It was time to end it.

“Mm,” I considered him. “Is there anything off-limits?”

“No, I, you can talk about a-anything you’d like.” He tapped at his right heel with his left toe. It was symmetrical to his previous action. “It can be trivial, or serious, or w-whatever.”

“Very well,” I shifted in my seat and leaned forward, showing teeth. “Let’s discuss you, Dr. Flug.”

“M-Me?!” My doctor squeaked, tugging at his bag. It was quite amusing. “I don’t think we should –”

“I believe you said I would choose the topic, and I have. If I am to share anything, I must know the little psychiatrist who hasn’t fled yet and seems to have a death wish.” Every word made Flug closer to the image of frightened prey. I took in a breath of the fear.

“Well, ah…” He was tense as a violin bowstring, and I waited for the inevitable, fourth time he would flee from me. “I mean, th-that is, I d-don’t think…” Any second now. It was in his body. He brought his shoulders to the bottom of his headwear. “I think, I…you know w-what? Fine.”

…What?

I blinked, dumbfounded, as he continued. “You’re r-right, I can’t e-expect this to go anywhere without, without t-trust. If we’re – if we s-start here, I guess it’s as g-good a place as any. Just…nothing a-about my name. Or the bag. O-Okay?” 

I could not help it, my jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

This was not expected in the slightest. Every encounter with this creature, every mention of his name or personal life, sent him skittering like a spider caught in an open room by a human holding a newspaper. I couldn’t fathom why it was any different now.

“You h-heard me. Um. Ask, ask away, I won’t mind.” Flug’s hands flitted along his bag and clipboard. 

It took longer to compose myself than I wanted him to see. My teeth cracked together into perfect symmetry and I stayed very still, looking my doctor up and down for signs of deceit. Once again, I failed to find any. 

“Very well, Dr. Flug,” I hissed, frustrated. “Why do you bother toiling in a place like this? Surely someone of your…stature would be better suited in a place not so dangerous to your personal health. Maybe a lab, instead?”

“Nah, research has too many d-deadlines,” he answered fairly quickly, obviously acquainted with the inquiry. “And uh, for your first question, it’s j-just something that’s always felt right. You know? Something th-that kinda just clicks?”

I did know. It was the experience of villainy, in any and every form, that gave me that sense. I didn’t share that with him. 

“You cannot expect me to believe it is only out of the goodness of your heart that you’re here, Flug.” I would have propped my elbows on my legs if not for this accursed jacket. Instead I settled with a slight lean to my right, towards my doctor. 

“Ah, the m-money isn’t a small f-factor either, I guess,” Flug was relaxing, millimeter by precious millimeter. “But I’m n-not really here for m-much else. Just,” he rubbed at the back of his head, “wanna give others a ch-chance, you know? Who, might not h-have had it until now.”

“Do you think I deserve a chance, Doctor?” It was not as sarcastic as he would interpret it. I actually wanted to know his answer. “Am I someone who did not have that before?”

“Well I don’t know, I d-don’t know your history.” He looked at me, this lovely little enigma of paper and anxiety. “But I am absolutely w-willing to offer what I can. If you’ll have me.”

The choice of words made me chuckle. “If I’ll have you, Doctor? What are you implying? What goes on in these padded rooms, exactly?”

Flug was visibly red through his bag, which I wasn’t aware was possible and took great greedy pleasure out of. “I mean! I mean I didn’t mean! Not – that’s disgusting!” 

He hit his clipboard against his face when the embarrassment became too much, babbling apologies and repulsion at the thought of anything at all. Quite the prude he was. My eyes drifted over to the security guard, who leaned against the door in clear apathy. His gaze was on some point far to the left. My doctor was still hiding his shame. Neither party was paying real attention to me.

I risked a shift to the end of the mattress where I sat. The guard did not stir, and Flug was busying himself with goggles practically buried in his notes. I tilted my head, calculating.

“What does ‘offering what you can’ entail exactly, Doctor? Is it merely counsel or does it extend to…physical therapy?” My grin was large.

The little wreck pressed the clipboard hard against what I assumed was his forehead, eyes covered completely. With a subtle glance at the oblivious guard, I stood very, very slowly. It went unnoticed even as I rose to my full height and didn’t move further. 

“Really Flug, I’m flattered. For all my charm, I can’t say I get offers like this often.” One slide of a step, silent as death. “But I have a reputation to uphold, even in a promiscuous place as this seems to be.” Another slide. Four more to go, give or take. “What would the other villains say if they heard – can you imagine? Me, the greatest threat to mankind that ever lived, giving in to such basic, immoral, _fleshy_ temptations.”

With every step closer I pitched my voice lower, creating the illusion of maintained distance. I probably did not need the caution. The idiot security was practically turned around, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Flug’s eyes were closed, mumbling German things like “Bitte aufhören” and “Warum ich?”

I could smell his panic now, clear and strong and constant. Humans had the tastiest reactions. And without the doctor’s realizing it, I was standing over him, almost intoxicated by the rush of it all. I might have been stripped of my powers but stealth would never be an issue, it seems.

How I wished my arms were free in that moment. If I had all my limbs, _all_ of them at my disposal, I could have done anything I desired. But one doesn’t need arms to contain, to restrain. I leaned close, planning to sink a hungry maw into that open vulnerable jugular, when I was forcibly stopped.

It was not because I was spotted that I was compelled to cease my ambush. Quite the contrary – the two were still flustering pathetically over my words. But it was Flug that made me stop, because I sensed something in that instant that forced me to reevaluate my summary of the doctor.

You see, there is an ambience of sorts that surrounds humans. Not so much an aura, as many so-called psychics would claim, but more a collective of their thoughts and actions and mood. It mostly manifests as a sort of darkness, although not one that anyone can see. It is a feeling, like the warning in your gut that tells you in no implicit terms to stay away, to beware. Most humans are not tuned into this frequency, for they scoff at the idea of a sixth sense, of the supernatural, of something they cannot measure or explain away. The few I have met that are in tune usually don’t have the instincts or training to pick up on the more subtle nuances of The Dusk, those people who hide their true selves so well. I myself am a connoisseur of it, like a wine taster at a banquet. Darkness recognizes darkness, so they say.

Being in a place like this, with so many humans and criminals shrouded lovingly in their dark ambiance, can cause a sort of thickness in the air not very different from a fog. Captivating as it is for a being like me, it often results in a jumble of confusion, as it is difficult to distinguish one Dusk from another.

Perhaps that is why I had not noticed the beautiful, sickening sense misting my doctor until this moment.

It was such a revelation that I could not bring myself to attack Flug as I would have otherwise. Instead, I absorbed the heady gloom like a chain smoker does the first pack of the day. It was a delectable taste as well – the quiet, unassuming kind that churns your stomach for reasons you cannot place, an uneasiness that is questioned and brushed off as paranoia even as it lingers. The sneaky ones are the most enjoyable at times.

And my dear doctor was very sneaky indeed.

Having wasted precious seconds, I reluctantly brought myself back to the physical plane and came so close to Flug that my cheek was nearly touching his bag. I whispered in his ear in the same way two days ago when I had assaulted him. But this was not a threat of the same nature, no. This was a sweet, sweet promise prompted by the wonderful feast he had unknowingly offered to me.

“Oh Flug, you should have told me. Your darkness is delicious.”

“Eeee!!” My doctor squeaked high enough to break glass and jumped at least a meter backwards, like one’s startled pet cat. He fell onto his rear and I laughed, loud and harsh and uninhibited, even as the guard finally did his job and corralled the terror-stricken human out the door in one fell swoop.

They left shortly after, but it did not matter. Our session was nearly over anyway, from what I could guess, and what had originally been a plan to settle curiosity from my overseer and formulate an escape became a wonderful, audacious need to taste more, to consume more of that sly little flavor from a little human Slys.

My dark little doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought Flug was thirsty, but Black Hat has just found an oasis in a desert.
> 
> The reason this is early is because I binged the last 5 episodes of Dexter Season 1 over the weekend (no spoilers please, it's my first time watching it) and it motivated me to write darkness and suave and...yah. Also, I gave Bautista his name cause that's the name of one of my current favorite characters from Dexter and I wanted to see if I could get myself to hate the name because I'm weird that way.
> 
> I was originally going to write the first therapy session from Flug's point of view, but BH stepped in after the first three paragraphs and said "Excuse you" and I had no further say on the matter.
> 
> Oh, and in case you're wondering, Flug's German “Bitte aufhören” means "please stop" and “Warum ich?” means "why me?" I figured if I was gonna make him German then he needed to speak it at some point. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!


	7. Press Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 505 is healing remarkably well, even for him, and Flug learns the real magnitude of his new position.

“Hey sweetie, how’re you feeling today?”

505 smiled droopily up at his nurse, covered in blankets and wrapped around the largest pillow they had. He watched as she came over slowly and touched his IV. There was a cheerful smile on her face as well.

“That’s wonderful, 505. You look very comfy all snuggled up like that, but I’m afraid I need to check your bandages. Do you mind?”

With a short, accepting sigh the bear reluctantly untangled himself from his nest and laid back with his paws at his sides, staying very still as his nurse friend let him know everything she was doing and asking for signs of pain or discomfort. When the last of the bandages were gone, he blinked at the weird lines covering his shaved chest and stomach. 

“Oh!” The nurse brought her hand to her mouth surprised. “There’s no way it’s…they’ve already closed up?” She reached out to touch his stomach but it made 505 tense up. “Oh, sorry honey, I’m sorry. I just want to see how healed your stitches are.”

He gave a hesitant nod and she trailed careful, filed fingers over every line, checking for complications with practiced ease. The astonishment on her face grew with every trace.

“Wow, oh wow,” she sounded breathless. 505 struggled to understand her amazement. “This is fully healed. It’s almost completely back to normal. I can take the stitches out. I…oh my god.”

The big blue bear pressed his chin against the top of his chest, trying to see exactly what she was seeing. There were lots of lines made up of pretty string in all colors. He didn’t see any red stuff coming out of them anymore, and he had been feeling better today, but he still couldn’t figure out her words. His eyes quivered up at her.

“Baow?”

“I knew you were healing fast but…wow.” His nurse shook her head and smiled at him again, much more enthusiastic this time. “505, this is amazing! You’ll be out of here in no time, maybe even today!”

He perked up, excited at the idea of returning to his room so soon. He really missed it a lot. The lovely lady started talking about things like ‘other doctor opinions’ and ‘bring him in to confirm your release’ but the bear was thinking about everything he’d do when he got back home. 

Maybe he’d play with his big rubber ball first. Or hug all his stuffed animals, they probably missed him so much. Maybe he’d lay on the floor and just be happy there, or get in his bed and curl up for a nap. He was still pretty tired. 

“…Dr. Flug?”

505 looked around at the sound of his friend’s name, but there was only his nurse, who smiled patiently at him. 

“I asked if you’d like to see Dr. Flug? I was going to let him know about your progress.”

He nodded happily and hugged his pillow as she walked to the other side of the room and picked up a phone, touching a lot of buttons with numbers on them. She held the phone to her face and started talking into it, sounding very excited like he was. After a little while, the nurse put the phone down and came back to his bed.

“Alright, he’ll be here in ten minutes. Let’s change your bandages so your stitches don’t come out, just in case.” 

When Dr. Flug came into the room, 505 was buried into his bedding again and snuffled joyously at the psychiatrist. His friend smiled – the bear always knew when he was smiling even with his bag – and sat down carefully at his side. 

“Hey 505, your nurse told me you’ll be out of here soon.” He patted his patient’s fluffy arm and stroked the fur. “That’s so awesome, buddy! You look a lot more awake than last time I was here. Healthier, too.” 

The bear wiggled onto his side to face Dr. Flug, all four paws holding pillows and blankets. He really did feel more awake, and he wasn’t hurting at all anymore. He told his doctor this with some content rumbling. 

“Ha, yeah, I’m so glad to hear it,” his friend continued rubbing his fur and looked thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about what to add to your room when you come back. I found a building block set the other day, it has lots of shapes and sizes so you can make whatever you want! How does that sound?”

505 didn’t know what a block set was but having any new toys was enough to make him bounce happily in his bed and hum his agreement. Dr. Flug’s eyes were nice and light behind his big goggles. He leaned forward slowly and hugged the bear with gentle arms, resting his head at the top of his chest, right above the edge of 505’s bandages. 

“God, I didn’t realize how much I missed this. You always give the best hugs.” The doctor sighed into blue fur as the bear tenderly wrapped his paws carefully around him, mindful of his strength. “I’m so sorry 505, I really am. You don’t deserve any of this.”

The patient churred a question, confused. He thought he deserved this hug very much so. 

“I just mean everything, in general. Everything bad. Nobody really deserves all the evil in the world but you,” Dr. Flug made eye contact, “you should’ve had everything you’d ever wanted. To be stuck here, in a place like this, with such an awful situation and p-people like, like me…”

The bear was startled as his doctor sniffled and hid his face against his chest, but he didn’t comment or push him away. He nuzzled the human instead, taking in the welcome scent of paper bag and soap and – what was that?

He lifted his head in astonishment, smelling something new and unnatural and unlike anything he’d ever encountered before. It was a scent like rot, old and strong and sickly sweet, and it made 505’s tummy squirm. He didn’t like this smell on his friend.

With a whine the bear made his concerns known, and Dr. Flug laughed weakly, tickling fur.

“Ah, should’ve known nothing would get past you, you’re so smart.” 505 smiled proudly at the compliment but then schooled himself to look stern. His doctor lifted his head and the patient was surprised by how tired he looked.

“Don’t worry about the weird smell, buddy. It’s just a new patient I’m working with, he’s a little rough around the edges. Actually saw him a few hours ago for a session. It’s been, uh, an experience for sure.”

505 nudged worriedly at the bag with his nose, with a quiet “Burroo?”

“Nah, everything’s fine. We’re just getting used to each other. Not unusual. He’s…” his friend looked away, voice cracking. “He seems to understand me a little more than I’d like him to.”

Dr. Flug picked himself up suddenly but delicately. He collapsed into his own chair and they just looked at each other. The bear grabbed his pillow again, a little anxious. 

“Ah, I’m sorry 505. I don’t want you thinking about this, let’s ah,” the doctor found the TV remote and brightened, snatching it up quickly and turning the set above them on. “There we go, we’ll find something you like, how’s that? I bet you missed this too.”

The room filled with sounds of weather reports and Dr. Flug clicked to the menu. He went through channels, reading show names and times in rapid succession. At one point he paused on a news channel that the bear didn’t know, but then the doctor shook his head as if distracted and kept changing until he found a kid’s broadcast. An orange fluffy creature in a green hat appeared on the TV, singing a song, and 505 trilled in approval.

“There we go, here’s one you love. I think we haven’t seen this one, either.”

They watched it together for several minutes, and then halfway through the episode the kind nurse opened the door and peeked inside.

“Um, Dr. Slys? I’ve got 505’s head physician out here with me, can we talk for a bit?”

“Sure thing,” the doctor stood and stretched, arms above his head. 505 noticed his shirt rise up and watched entranced as he saw his friend’s pale torso for the first time. There was a big purple bruise on one side – the bear grimaced in sympathy – and under the bottom of his shirt, the edge of a jagged vertical line was barely visible but unmistakable.

But then Dr. Flug left and 505 only wondered at its similarity to his own long lines before his favorite cartoon caught his attention again. He hummed along to the theme song as another episode started, and squealed in delight as something funny happened to the angry character onscreen. 

Outside, Flug was livid.

“Absolutely not!”

“But Dr. Slys, please be reasonable,” the lead doctor pleaded, his brow furrowed. “It’s for his own safety until we can be sure that his health is one hundred percent stable.”

“And you can’t confirm that in his own room?” The psychiatrist growled and grasped tightly at the ends of his lab coat. “Moving such an emotionally vulnerable patient out of his designated safe space is a guaranteed scenario for a relapse, Doctor! And up – up on Floor 5 no less!”

“Sir, please,” 505’s nurse clasped her hands, “It’s not entirely guaranteed and he’s a lot more stable than you’ve given him credit for. There aren’t cameras in his current room, we can’t watch him –”

“Then _install_ cameras, Christ, why is that so difficult a concept?” Flug was seething. “And I’m not saying he’s not stable, but Floor 5 patients are notorious for screaming and loud sounds and I won’t risk that after the scare we had with the bomb. We don’t know if he has any new triggers, any noises or banging, I don’t know that yet!”

“If you would be willing –”

“Not to mention the location! One of the four most secure cells, as if he’ll try to escape, as if he’s dangerous! He wouldn’t hurt his abusers if they were presented on a silver platter!”

“Dr. Slys!” The head physician snapped, out of patience. “It’s temporary and common procedure. We can’t be sure of his new triggers, and he has incredible strength. If something were to make him lash out or react unusually, those are the only rooms we know for sure could keep him contained. It has nothing to do with cameras. And at the rate 505 has been healing, it would be for a week at most, not months in the way you’re implying!”

“A week, a month, a day, it doesn’t matter,” the psychiatrist hissed. “It still has the potential to be damaging to his mental health, which is exactly what I’m trying to avoid. Not to mention,” his eyes went wide as he considered the _other_ , top hat-wearing factor. “Not to mention there’s an inmate in one of those cells right now who is extremely volatile and manipulative and would have no qualms in hurting 505 verbally or emotionally.”

He watched, privately smug, as their faces pulled taut in surprise. They hadn’t known about Black Hat.

“So with all of that in mind, my answer is no. I will not authorize for my patient to be moved to a ‘temporary’ new room. Bring it up with Dr. Rorschach if you really have concerns but I’m refusing.”

Flug stayed like a sentry in front of 505’s hospital room and waited until the two had left before puffing out every bit of bravado and slumping tiredly against the door. This was too much to deal with. Bautista after him this morning, an afternoon of Black Hat hinting at knowing things he absolutely should not know, and now he had the medical team on his tail. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a call that Dementia had escaped or something.

In that moment when he dropped his guard, of course he was no longer alone. Someone rounded the corner, carrying a big box of something and unable to see. The nurse turned to his left and started walking sideways down the hall, and Flug recognized the face of the young man who had given him a physical however long ago. He wore a purple bandana this time, and he lit up when he saw the psychiatrist.

“Hey doc, what’s up?” The nurse crab-walked his way and Flug scrambled to help him. They set the box down together so the guy could catch his breath. “I haven’t seen you in a few, how’s your bruise?”

“Oh, um, it’s getting better.” He tapped fingers against his side. “I was just, checking on my patient.”

“Cool, the bear right? He’s causing quite the stir here, Mr. Miracle Healer that he is.” The nurse wiped one cheek against his shoulder and Flug caught the sight of very light, dusted silver glitter around the edges of his eyes. It was pleasant in the light. 

“Ah, yeah, 505. He’s definitely an amazing, um, bear.”

The guy caught him staring. “Oh, you lookin’ at my makeup?” At the embarrassed mumbled apology he laughed and waved it off. “Don’t apologize, I’m just surprised. Most people see the more obvious things, like the neon colors. You gawking at the subtle stuff is flattering, honestly.”

“O-Okay,” the psychiatrist shifted from heel to heel. “Hey, about that actually. Is the glitter chemical? Or have anything that might be allergic to someone?”

“Nah man, this is pretty natural.” The nurse tapped his nose. “It has to be if I’m allowed to wear it in medical. Why, you thinking about getting some? For your bag? It’s not gonna dissolve through it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh no, that’s not, not for me. For a, patient maybe. Good behavior reward. Does it, come in a lot of colors?” 

“Sure does, I’ll write down the website for you.” The nurse pulled a tiny notepad and pen from his back pocket. “Anything specific? The site is pretty helpful but I can give you some browsing tips.”

“Um. I’m not sure, I don’t, really know much about this.” But Dementia did. He remembered her mugshot pictures, full of shark grins and thick, eye-popping makeup. It was one of the things she had complained about missing the most near the beginning of her stay. 

“That’s cool too, exploring is great for first timers. Okay,” he tore out the paper and handed it to Flug. “That should do it. Ring me up if you need help or have questions. I gotta get going.”

The guy turned back to his box, a scowl briefly crossing his features with an ‘mmph’ and he picked it up carefully, walking sideways down the hall again. “I’ll see you around, Doctor! Hopefully not as a professional!”

“Ah, sure h-hope so!” Flug tucked the web address in his coat and took a deep breath. That had been a surprise but welcome distraction from the craziness of the day, he had to admit. He tentatively knocked on 505’s door and received an affirming “Rrum ren!”

His patient was right where he had left him, albeit a little sleepier. The show was on a commercial break and the bear had cuddled into his makeshift nest, staring blankly at the screen and trying not to nod off. He didn’t perk up as much as he looked like he wanted to when his doctor entered the room.

“Falling asleep, 505?” The psychiatrist received a sheepish, tired smile in return. “Don’t feel bad, you’re still recovering. I’ll be here for a little while, don’t worry.”

The bear lasted another half episode and then was passed out contently in his hospital nest bed, but Flug kept his promise and relaxed carefully in his place against his patient’s side, enjoying the feel of soft fur and comforter. He had maybe twenty minutes more in this visit.

With slow movements to avoid disturbing 505, the doctor reached for the remote and turned the volume off, setting up Spanish subtitles instead. He flipped to the news station that had caught his attention earlier. It was a live conference from Interpol headquarters.

On the screen, surrounded by reporters and officers, was Inspector Daniels himself. He stood at a podium and his body language appeared confident and professional despite the flashing lights and the crowded room. Flug watched the broadcast in rapt absorption.

“And now we come to our most important announcement,” scribed the subtitles. “The reason we requested such a large press release.” The inspector swaggered just a little, head high. “I’m proud to report that we have officially apprehended and imprisoned the infamous criminal Black Hat, who has been on Interpol’s Most Wanted list since 1986.”

The reporters went nuts. Flug’s heart skipped a beat. 

“How did you do it?”

“How many casualties?”

“Where is he being contained? Aren’t you afraid he’ll escape again?”

Lines of questions and dialogue scrolled frantically across the screen, trying to keep up with the visual frenzy. Flug was rigid in his seat.

“Please, one at a time,” Daniels made a ‘calm down’ motion with his hands, looking stern. “We are not at liberty to announce where the criminal is being held at this time, but rest assured that he is under the surveillance of the best security the world has to offer. Black Hat’s capture took place last week during our intervention of an attempted terrorist attack at Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. We managed to corner the perpetrators before their assault and avoided civilian casualties.”

“Which group did the terrorists belong to?”

“Did the attack have a specific target or just meant to cause chaos?”

“What was Black Hat doing there? Was he in league with them?”

“We are investigating the circumstances of the situation now and cannot release that information at this time. However, it is our belief that Black Hat was not affiliated with the group and instead was ‘attracted by the possibility for destruction’, as quoted by him in his interrogation. We will release the details of the investigation when it has been completed and we can be certain in the accuracy of the information. Anymore questions?” 

The conference went on, but Flug was no longer reading the subtitles. He tugged desperately at his bag and one hand came under it to hold to his hidden mouth. This was bad, this was very bad. He knew of course, that the news of Black Hat’s capture would be important, but for an international broadcast and a room full to bursting?

Flug knew very well what happened when mafia members or gang members were caught and the news told to the world. It was hailed as a relief to have such dangerous criminals off the streets, but even in cases where their influence didn’t extend to their prisons, the aftermath of taking those masters of the crime world out of the picture was disaster. The remaining gangs fought for superiority and territory, mafia leaders tightened their hold on their own and became more ruthless, and freelancers learned to be more cunning, more watchful, and more socially acceptable.

It was a brewing, spilling stew of filth, with every spice determined not to boil. 

An announcement like this, despite its good intentions, would no doubt result in chaos. Maybe even a turf war, if Black Hat’s supposed influence reached that far. Interpol had refused to reveal his location, thank god, but it still meant that if everything went to hell and the criminal escaped again, they could pin it on his institute, claiming no association.

Flug didn’t know what was going to happen out in the real world, and for the first time in a long time he was very, very grateful that he lived so close to his place of employment. Black hat couldn’t know about this. Nobody could know where Black Hat was being held.

And above all else, no one, absolutely no one could know that Dr. Flug Slys was now quietly responsible for what would happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest headcanon is that 505 adores Wander Over Yonder and you can't convince me otherwise.
> 
> Quick announcement: expect next week's chapter to be late. I have too much going on and I'm sorry about that. It will probably be released on that Friday instead of Monday, I'm not entirely sure. Sorry guys.
> 
> Mr. Bandana Nurse made a comeback due to popular demand (one person lol) but I can't decide on a fitting name for him. What do you guys think? I'll choose the best one you come up with.


	8. You Win Some, You Lose Some

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug has to compromise on some issues he'd rather not. And everyone has feelings.

Lauren Rorschach’s office was well furnished. Her desk was dark mahogany, with hand-carved elephants marching along the bottom rim in wooden jubilee. Two violet couches lined each side wall, both big enough to hold three people individually. The walls were covered top to bottom with personal certificates and achievements, newspaper articles detailing the success of the institute, and one larger-than-life painting of a bowl of food – not the stereotypical fruit but vegetables instead. It was almost like a statement. _The only mindless veggies here are in this painting._

Flug wasn’t very comforted by the thought today.

“You seem to have been making some enemies lately, Dr. Slys.” The director peered at her associate from over her glasses. He slumped sheepishly in his seat.

“Ah, y-yeah, I suppose so,” the psychiatrist offered rather weakly. “So uh, I’m guessing that’s why you called me in then.” There was a confirming nod. “Alright, w-what’s first on the roster then?”

“Well, considering Dr. Bautista came into my office earlier without so much as a knock, I’d say that matter might be a little more pressing. At least, according to him.” She quirked an eyebrow, amused at the dislike on her employee’s face – obvious even through his headwear – and continued. “Supposedly you are ‘out to ruin his reputation and slander his good name’, to quote him.”

“I’m n-not doing anything like that! I’m just, he just…I don’t think he’s a good fit for Black Hat’s case. And I wanted to talk about his intern, Martin. Um, Martin Naaji.”

“You did mention the intern in your email a few days ago. Why don’t you want Dr. Bautista with you on the case? I thought we chose him for his physical backup and your nonconflicting schedules.” 

“Let’s j-just say some, uh, some things came to my attention that m-made me think we wouldn’t work very well together.” Flug worded his phrasing carefully. “He is a respected psychiatrist and a fine member of this institute, but he – we all have our strengths and weaknesses and some, clash more than others. And the patient himself doesn’t seem very fond of the doctor. He refused to answer his questions and only addressed me. He ignored Bautista completely.”

“Have you considered the idea that Black Hat is doing this in order to separate you both? To turn you against each other and make one of you vulnerable to assault?”

“Oh I considered that, yes, but ah,” he grimaced, thinking back on his inmate’s words during their first therapy session. “I believe it’s highly unlikely. And we don’t, we j-just don’t work well together, I think. So. I’d like to formally request to be stated as the only psychiatrist on this case. For now. Um, until – if something happens. Which it won’t so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Dr. Slys, you don’t have to assure me of your prowess. I’m well aware of that fact.” An honest smile came his way. “I trust my employees, and I know they make the decisions they believe to be the best. I’ll abide by your request.”

The psychiatrist’s goggles lightened, but his director held up one hand.

“However, I also expect the employees to learn to work with each other regardless of differences in personality or background. I won’t force the two of you to work together regularly, but I do expect you to resolve any conflicts you may have within a reasonable amount of time. If there are any more concerns from either of you, I want to hear about them, but I also want you both to try to come to an agreement, or at least a compromise. Is that fair?”

“Of c-course, it’s more than I could ask for.”

“Good, now about Martin Naaji. The problem here seems to be that he hasn’t been receiving proper direction in his work here. Am I correct?”

“Yes, Dr. Bautista – I mean, both he and Martin have told me that they’re unsure about what he should be doing every day. I’m not, it’s not really my business but I promised that I’d ask you about it and get back to them about it.”

“In the message Dr. Bautista sent me, he suggested that the intern be transferred to your guidance.”

“I – me?!”

“That’s correct. Have you ever overseen an intern before? Have any experience?”

“No! No, I don’t at all.” Flug gestured a little desperately. “I don’t have any plans to take on an assistant or an intern, or anything like that. I don’t have the time, I can’t – and all of my patients right now are extremely distrustful or cautious of the unknown, I can’t just pop up with another person for them to get used to after all this!”

“So you wouldn’t be willing to take him on?”

“No I, don’t get me wrong, he’s a sweet kid, a wonderful student but. I don’t know how to help him. That’s why I wanted your input, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Doctor, the best answer to that question is your honest one. I’ll work more with Dr. Bautista about it. In the meantime though,” she considered him, “didn’t you bring him along to one of your sessions with Patient 243? Dementia?”

“Oh yeah, I did do that. It went remarkably well. Why?”

“Would you be willing to let him do it again while we figure this all out?”

“I mean, that is – I think it’d be up to my patient. I wouldn’t mind it myself. But I need to ask Dementia before I could give you a real answer.”

“That’s fine. Do you have time after this to discuss it with her? I think it would be beneficial to both the patient and the intern if he joins you.”

“I can do that, yeah. I’ll ask her today.”

“Thank you. Let me know as soon as you can.”

“Absolutely, will do.” He picked at his shirt just briefly before making eye contact. “Um. Can we d-discuss 505’s situation now? I’m really worried about him.”

“Mm…” She glanced at her computer, pulling up a specific email up on her tab. “I have on record that 505’s physician sent me a message yesterday. He mentioned that you refused to allow the patient’s transfer to Floor 5 for observation and recuperation. May I ask why?”

The psychiatrist clenched at his lab coat. “Because he’s in risk of a b-breakdown up there! It’s completely detrimental to his health, and as his psychiatrist I can’t let it happen.”

“I see,” Dr. Rorschach brushed a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the…unstable nature of some of the other patients on that floor? Particularly the one who’s been causing the disturbance between you and Dr. Bautista?”

“Absolutely!” Flug bit back the urge to bring his finger up in triumph. “505 might be super strong but he’s never been a danger to anyone. We both know that, everyone knows that. I need to keep him safe and he won’t be safe, especially with – if he’s that close to Black Hat.”

“I see your point, and it’s a valid one. Unfortunately, we also know that 505 is unaware of how much damage he can and does cause. He’s gentle with his handlers, but we’ve kept records of the extensive property damage.” She read off her screen. “He’s destroyed numerous toys meant for stress relief and mind stimulation, broke four of your clipboards, and if I’m not mistaken, he made a six-centimeter dent in his cell during his first week here that we still haven’t fixed yet.”

“That’s true, but –”

“We also have no guarantee that his physical well-being is completely stable. His body may have healed but that could revert itself or produce unknown side effects that we haven’t seen yet from the aftermath of the…event. The bomb.”

“I know, but I don’t think –”

“Doctor, I know how much you care for your patients. It’s a joy to have such a compassionate individual working here, believe me. But I can’t risk any danger to an inmate’s health while under this roof. I can’t risk his life.”

“At the cost of his mental health? His chance to recover his mind, live a normal life?” Flug trembled openly. He wanted to stand, accusing, but ground himself into his chair instead. “This could be irreversible, Dr. Rorschach. You know that!”

“I do know that! Trust me, I do,” she snapped, her sharp painted nails pressing against the computer mouse. “We pride ourselves on our ability for our successful rehabilitation of criminals. But we are also so famous for the physical care we provide. 505’s situation is unprecedented. I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years as director. We don’t know what could happen – I don’t know what could happen, and that scares me.”

The psychiatrist tugged at his bag, noticing in his distress how much of it was mirrored in her body language.

“Dr. Rorschach, please. I’m begging you not to go through with this. I don’t want him to get hurt, but I really don’t want him regressing either. I’ll pay for cameras to be installed, I’ll check in more frequently, I’ll even camp out in his room if that’s what it takes! Just please don’t stick him on Floor 5. Please.”

They looked at each other for a long time in a battle of silence, wills, and the urge to understand. Dr. Rorschach cracked first and looked away with a weary sigh.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Slys. But we need to keep monitoring him and we can’t do it from his current room. I can’t keep him in medical either, they’ll need that room for others. I’ll have 505 placed in the cell across the hall and diagonal from Black Hat. It’s farthest away and it’s the best I can do. I won’t risk liability here, no matter what. You’re welcome to visit him as often as you think is necessary and I’ll increase your spending budget for his material items and toys, but that’s it.”

It was the firmness in those words, the finality of a no-nonsense director who wouldn’t take any answer but agreement that kept Flug’s mouth tensed shut. He bowed his head in stony, expected respect and stood up, straightening his lab coat meticulously.

“When can I expect you to move 505.”

“Most likely later this evening, when he’s been officially checked out of his medical room. I’ll let you know, if you’d like to be there.”

“Sure. Yeah. I’ll move his stuff to that c – to his new room then. If there’s nothing else to say, I’ll take my leave to start doing that.”

“There’s nothing else, no.” Dr. Rorschach usually shook hands with her employees before they left. She didn’t offer it now. “I am truly sorry, Dr. Slys, for what it’s worth. We just don’t have a better option.”

He didn’t respond, just clenched his fingers in his coat and gave a curt nod, turning and trudging to the door in soft, measured steps. There was no glance backwards as he left her office, and the door closed slowly and firmly. Flug refused to give himself a chance to dwell on the situation. He broke out into a steady jog, forgoing the elevator completely and trekking up two flights of stairs into Floor 3 and practically ran to 505’s colorful room.

It was far too empty without the bear’s wonderful presence, and the psychiatrist grabbed the closest thing to his left – a giant stuffed whale – and tucked it under his armpit. He filled his arms with as many toys as he could carry, balancing a green rubber ball precariously on top of a rainbow plastic slinky as he made his way to Floor 5.

Many of the patients were fairly quiet in the morning hours, and today was no exception. He passed Dementia’s room without her notice but stopped when he came close to the four armored cells in the back. One of Black Hat’s guards – Lucas – saw what he was holding and came over curiously.

“Dr. Slys? What’s all this?”

“We’re just, um, one of my patients is being transferred here.” Flug wilted, letting the severity of the issue come to his mind at last. “He’ll be here sometime this afternoon and I w-wanted to move his things here, make sure he’ll be c-comfortable.”

The ball tipped over and Lucas lunged for it, catching the toy before it hit the ground. He rolled it back and forth between his hands as the psychiatrist gave him a grateful look.

“Do you need any help? You look like your hands are pretty full.”

“Mm, I don’t – that’d be nice but d-don’t you need to,” he glanced at the disturbingly quiet cell of his trouble inmate. “Um, guard him?” 

“Ah, well, Ben had to go take care of something but he’s bound to be back any minute – speak of the devil!” Lucas was suddenly grinning, looking past the doctor.

Flug turned around to see Black Hat’s other security officer walking briskly toward them. He blinked at the psychiatrist only briefly before his gaze moved to his partner. 

“Man, sorry I’m late. All the stalls were full and the line was longer than I thought. What’s going on?”

“I was gonna help Dr. Slys move some stuff for his patient. Apparently someone else is coming over here now.” Lucas jerked a thumb at the cells behind them. “You mind if I do that for a bit? We’ll be back and forth.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary –” Flug started to say.

“Nah, sure, go ahead. I’ll be right here if you need me,” Ben beamed at them both and took his position in front of Black Hat’s door. “Just let me know if you need help with heavy lifting. I’m much more muscular than this guy.”

“Hey! Don’t start with me,” Lucas growled in mock indignation. He looked towards Flug, who stood there a little lost. “So which room we taking this into?”

“Oh, ah, this one back here.” Passing Black Hat’s room made his skin prickle, but no terrifying face appeared at the window to verbally assault him. The psychiatrist and the guard placed the toys in various spots in the large padded room, and Flug found the silver lining in that 505 might enjoy such comfy walls and flooring compared to his other room.

Lucas helped him make three more trips between Floor 3 and Floor 5, making small talk and gushing about his son, who had just turned five last month apparently. The psychiatrist listened politely, not very interested but knowing how to appear so, and when the last of the bear’s stuff was moved – an easel for finger painting set along the far wall – he sighed in bitter relief and locked the door.

“Thank you, really. I d-don’t know how long this would have taken without your help.”

“No problem, Doctor. It gets super boring standing here all day anyway. And you’ve been really respectful to us, it was the least I could do.”

“You don’t…get treated well? From the other employees?”

“Oh no, don’t get us wrong,” Ben jumped in. “I love working here personally, but when something goes wrong, it’s always ‘let’s blame security’ for everything. Gets frustrating sometimes, y’know?”

“Unfortunately, I really do.” Flug had a flicker of memory and pushed it down far away. “But I d-do want to thank you again. For this and for – for saving my life back then. For looking out for me. I don’t know how to, to make it up to you.”

“Eh,” Lucas waved a hand. “You’ve been a pretty good source of entertainment, no offense. You and your inmate both. I’ve never seen anything like it, to be honest.”

“Neither have I,” he mumbled to himself. _And I don’t know what to think about that._

At that moment of course, Black Hat deigned the situation important enough to make an appearance. When the psychiatrist risked a glance through the barred window, he saw a single glittering eye in the dark from across the room. He had only a moment to wonder why the lights never seemed to be working back here before his patient glided silently to the door with feigned disinterest.

“Am I to understand you’ve been discussing me without my presence? How rude.” The inmate let the brim of his top hat touch the bars without creasing it. “And to peer into the privacy of my room too, no respect these days.”

“Nnn,” Flug kept the reflexive apology from leaving his tongue and crossed his arms instead. The guards on either side of him shifted to be more prepared, but didn’t seem very alarmed by the criminal’s presence.

“Something on your mind, Doctor?”

“I, yes actually. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” There was the lifting of an eyebrow. “And what might that be? Perhaps to continue our conversation from the therapy session two days ago? I really did want to discuss with you about what I found, that –”

“It’s not that, a-actually.” The psychiatrist stiffened at the look Black Hat gave him as he cut him off, but ploughed through anyway. “We have another patient coming to stay in one of these rooms back here, and I d-don’t want you harassing him.”

“Why would I do something like that, Dr. Flug?”

“Because you’re a criminal, and you haven’t had any problems harassing me or Inspector Daniels, or, anyone really. This patient isn’t someone who can be set off, we don’t want him hurting himself or others and I know you’d – ”

“You don’t know much about me at all, Flug.” Black Hat looked nonchalantly threatening at the three of them. “I have no interest in pursuing actions against an invalid, unless he gives me explicit reason to. Harassing creatures so pathetic holds no value nor satisfaction for me. It’s a waste of time.”

“Then why go after me? Is it j-just because I’m your psychiatrist?”

“If that was the case, Dr. Flug, then I would have lost interest in you quite some time ago. You would not have survived the week.”

Two things wormed their way up Flug’s neck in that declaration. The first was sick, animal fear because Black Hat was not exaggerating or bluffing. He fully believed his patient in this. The second was something he couldn’t yet identify, but there was no small amount of it and he set it aside to analyze later. 

“Okay, w-well, as long as I have y-your word that you’ll leave this patient alone.”

“I’m a criminal, Doctor. You said so yourself. What weight could my word possibly have? I’m just as likely to break it as I give it.”

“No,” he responded softly, honestly. “Something tells me that you wouldn’t. You’re a man – person – of your word. I don’t have any evidence for that guess, but I don’t think I need any. Am I right?”

Black Hat’s face split into a grin, born from surprise and delight. He looked very pleased by his psychiatrist’s deduction.

“You’re correct, Flug. I abide by my word. And I will not come after your precious patient unless he gives me reason to. Fair enough?”

“Yes–! I mean yes. That’s very fair. Thank you.” And he offered an appreciative smile of his own, honest and thankful and the first he’d ever given this inmate. It threw the criminal off, who drew back from the window with a quiet utterance of ‘it’s my pleasure’ and disappeared into the darkness again.

Flug let the smile drop into vague relief and gave his heartfelt goodbyes to Ben and Lucas, waving as they saluted him off. On the way back down the hall, he stopped momentarily at Dementia’s room. She was sprawled facedown across her bed, her hair spread over most of her body. 

“Dementia, are you there?” He peered anxiously at the mass of red hair and white straightjacket lying motionless on the mattress.

The lump moved sideways and Dementia’s face appeared behind her hair curtain, blinking groggily at her psychiatrist. “Flug? Izzat you?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry to wake you. I just had a few quick questions, do you mind?”

“Nah, mm, jus’ gimme a minute.” The girl arched her back, catlike in her stretching. She groaned as her spine popped. “So, qué pasa? Need me to take someone out for you?”

“No thanks, we’ve already decided you’re not doing that. I wanted to know what you thought of Martin, from a few days ago?”

“Martin Maje? Sure, he’s a dumb butt. Why?”

“Would you be willing to let him continue joining us for our therapy sessions together? At least temporarily?”

“Uh…” She closed one eye, thinking about it. “I dunno. I guess he’s okay enough for that. This is kinda out of nowhere though, what’s this about?”

“My boss wants him to shadow my work for a while. Or shadow me working with you for a while. It’s not really something I asked for. I told her I needed to talk to you first.”

“Okay. Aren’t you coming in tomorrow? For my freedom free time?”

“That’s not what it’s called.”

“Well it’s what I call it so that’s too bad for you,” Dementia flopped down into her mattress, voice muffled. “He can come for that, I guess. I don’t really care. Just don’t let him touch me. And you better have something fun for me to do while my hands are free, or I’ll scratch him, bite his neck. Haven’t had fresh blood in a while.”

“You’re not a vampire, Dementia. You don’t need fresh blood.”

“Just you wait, Flug. Someday one will come swooping in and transform me, like a bat in shining armor. And then you’ll wish you listened to me, cause I’m not letting you have immortality now even if you begged me for it… Would you beg me for it?”

“No, Dementia.”

“Not even just a little bit?”

“Goodbye, Dementia.”

“Okay fine! I won’t share it with you! I’ll laugh when you get all old and wrinkly and your bag will get wrinkly too and I’ll laugh at you. It’s what you get for waking me up anyway.”

She turned her face away, and Flug might have thought she was upset at him except that she was peeking mischievously with one eye, the corner of a dimpled smile visible from the bed. He shook his head good-naturedly and walked away toward the stairwell.

As the psychiatrist made his way down each flight of stairs, he considered again the feelings that had come out of Black Hat’s not so subtle threat. The one he had been unable to identify, which nearly overcame the familiar fear, was a positive emotion. His shock at the realization made him pause halfway down one step.

It had been glee. An uncommon, traitorous little thing that he hadn’t felt in relation to himself for a very long time. It bubbled up in him now, against his will, and Flug took it reluctantly. He had been complimented before, had felt satisfaction from admiring words before, but it was different here. It wasn’t just because it was from an inmate either – he’d had plenty of those as well.

No, Black Hat acknowledged him for reasons he couldn’t fathom, out of respect or some other thing, and it made him gleeful. Made him happy. 

He decided he’d let it be a good thing. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is later than Friday. My computer crashed on Thursday and it set this chapter back even further because of that. But I'm back with a vengeance! 
> 
> Dialogue-heavy chapter today, which is what I love writing the most but it might not be very balanced out here, so sorry about that. At least we know now that Flug and Black Hat are awkward dorks about their feelings.
> 
> Also, there were so many awesome name suggestions for Mr. Bandana Nurse, I haven't picked one yet. I'll have it figured out by next chapter for sure though. Thanks so much everyone!
> 
> Starting next week I'll be back on the Monday update schedule, promise! See you all then!


	9. Feelings are Illogical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Hat realizes he has more contradictions than usual, which irritates and confuses him. And then he meets his new neighbor.

This has been quite the peculiar day.

First in the matter of its abnormality was that my two most frequent sentries, who have been silent as death in their vigil since my arrival, had become unnervingly unconcerned with the danger their job entailed – guarding me, the most harrowing thing – and were now seeing fit to chat between themselves like a pair of irritating school children standing in a lunch line. I did not care to learn their names, I did not care to hear their conversation, and I did not care to let them know how much their inattentiveness irked me. Comfortableness leads to error, after all. So I retreated to the far corner of my cushioned cell in its limited refuge. 

I stayed in that position for so long that I lost track of time and forgot myself and my surroundings, feeling instead the tug of the subconscious and falling into the depths of my ingenuity. I was still aware of any changes in the physical world, but for all intents and purposes I was not actually there. If not for the damned collar around my neck, it would have become a literal thing as well. 

When I came back to myself some hours later, it was to find dear Dr. Flug conversing with my jailors in abhorrent chumminess. It was enough to bring an angry tint to my eye that the psychiatrist must have noticed, because he turned in that moment and we made eye contact. I knew he had been discussing me – it was written all over his sagged, sacked face. I joined the little powwow in my own terms and learned exactly what was going on.

My anomaly proceeded to surprise me yet again, demanding my attention and my word. Such a manner of action I would normally perceive as rude and unbecoming, but on his visage it could almost be considered brave. It was enough to intrigue me, and when he correctly guessed that I was indeed a creature of my word, it pleased me for reasons I could not immediately distinguish.

His disgusting, syrupy smile threw me off even more so, and I was forced to retreat again, defeated even as my opponent failed to realize his participation. I loathed and luxuriated in the feelings it brought and gnashed my teeth at the troublesome contradictions.

Now, the complexities of language have always been one of the few aspects of culture I can truthfully say I appreciate from the unfortunately domineering species on this planet. Metaphors, word plays, and related nuances are especially interesting to watch as they change and develop over the decades. Some, of course, are less interesting than others. I’m not particularly fond of the phrase ‘it never ceases to amaze me’ yet am often amused by it, because humans as a whole have such pathetic minds that it’s no wonder they are constantly in awe of the things they can’t grasp – which is quite the multitude, I can assure you.

Occasionally I am forced to concede the usefulness of phrases such as that one, and this was one of those instances. Dr. Flug Slys had so far exceeded every expectation, sidestepped almost every snare, and caused contradictions that I very rarely experience from humans. I hated that, hated how I have been unable to read him so readily as I have so many others. That wasn’t even mentioning his darkness, which I still had yet to fully pinpoint and desired to know every juicy morsel about it. It was thrilling and perplexing and altogether something I was not used to. 

‘Not used to’ was not a sentence I have needed to use to refer to myself in a very, _very_ long time.

The day took an abrupt turn after that to territory resembling a circus act, if I may be frank. A group of medical doctors came to my hallway corner, accompanied by Flug who buzzed around as a dumb little busy bee. They all fretted and fussed over a giant blue bear wearing a fitted green sweater, of all things. It was downright deplorable. 

Just as my psychiatrist had informed me, this pitiful excuse for an inmate was ushered into a neighboring padded room and I took the risk of inching along one wall to obtain a better look at the procession. Flug was wrapped in the bear’s gigantic arms, whispering his psychologist promises and making a fool of himself, but the others did not seem to notice or mind it. Infuriating.

Most of the physicians gave mumbled opinions and medical babble and were content enough to leave mere minutes after their source of scrutiny was successfully stuck in its cell. A few were stupid enough to look in the direction of my window, but I knew they couldn’t see me. Lights of all kinds – electrical, oil, fluorescent, it didn’t matter – would always malfunction in periods of long exposure to my presence, and at nearly five days these ones were too far gone to recover.

It took far too long, but eventually the only ones left were the bear, Flug, and my two barely-vigilant but ever-present security force. The new inmate gurgled in some vague semblance of sanity and speech and I could feel my lips curl involuntarily in disgust. But I had told Dr. Flug that I would not provoke unless made to do so, and I am a fiend of my word.

My psychiatrist finally spoke words that no longer dripped sickening honey, and it perked me into giving my attention.

“It’ll only be for a-a little while, okay? No longer than two weeks, your doctor promised me. Look, I even brought all your toys and things, see? We can arrange them later or play with them if you’d like.”

The bear sat despondently in his room, unwilling to let go of Flug even as the doctor attempted to bring his gaze towards some stuffed animal. I scoffed at the sight and received an actual, heated glare from my anomaly. He was growing balls yet again.

“Okay, 505, I need you to listen carefully. There’s another patient i-in that room over there, see that? No, I know you can’t see him in the dark, I can’t see him right now either but he’s there, okay? Now he’s my newest patient, the one you smelled earlier – easy! It’s alright, he’s not gonna hurt you!”

I flicked one eyebrow up in unconcerned enjoyment as Flug tried unsuccessfully to keep his giant, heavy, struggling bear from knocking over his sad little painting canvas. They didn’t so much wrestle but awkwardly fumbled around, one having the sensible goal to get as far away from my room as possible and the other trying to hold him. I decided I’d help things along.

“Perhaps there is something I could do, dear doctor?”

The instant freeze-up from patient and guardian was downright hilarious. I stepped again to my window and offered my most winning smile. The bear, 505 as he seemed to be called, gave a lovely little whimper and became as still as a hunted deer. Flug expressed the further growth of his distasteful disrespect by planting himself in front of the creature and crossing his arms. 

“I thought we p-promised you wouldn’t mess with him.”

Saying ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ – a common trope most used to avoid blame or individual responsibility. I had the distinct notion he frequented this phrase far too often. 

“Why, Dr. Flug, we did indeed, but I am not ‘messing with him’ as you so crudely imply. I am simply offering my services in your patient’s readjustment. Surely there is something I can do?”

“N-No thank you.” My psychiatrist clenched his teeth in a wonderful grating of bone and turned his back – turned his back on _me!_ – in order to give his full attention to the sniffling bear. “505, it’s really okay. I asked him to leave you a-alone and he will, I promise. There are cameras up here and he can’t get out –” 

“Don’t bet your life on that, Flug.”

“…He can’t get out and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll visit every single day instead of every two, and we’ll do finger painting tomorrow just like I said we would. Alright?”

505 had enough instinct to keep his bulging eyes on me even as he nodded. They hugged, a long and nauseating process, and then Dr. Flug removed himself from the room, closing the door. I could no longer see the bear and would have to move my position to do so, but instead I remained where I was as my psychiatrist marched up to my window with a squeaky little hiss.

“W-What are you doing?”

“I’m standing here, Doctor.”

“You know e-exactly what I mean,” he took ahold of his headwear and tugged at it none too gently. “I had your, your word. You said you’d leave h-him alone.”

“So I did.” I made an observation of his body language, having never encountered it before. Angry bag creases around the goggles, which itself was doing nothing to mute the furious betrayal in his eyes. He was rigid – a common occurrence but the foreign emotions were adding a layer of fight to his stance instead of the usual flight. His fists were trembling only just. 

I narrowed my eyes in contemplation of what these changes looked like on my doctor and what I thought of it. He was still glaring at me expectantly, so I threw him a proverbial bone.

“I was simply offering my assistance, Dr. Slys. I have never gone against my word and I have no plans on doing so now. I will leave your 505 alone so long as he leaves me be in return.”

“But you – he w-wasn’t – fine. Just, fine. I’ve g-got enough to worry about right now, I won’t p-poke the hornet’s nest.” He pressed the palms of his hands against his goggles, pushing them into his face. No doubt that was very painful.

“An excellent idea, Doctor. I’ll pass your courteousness along to the hornets.” 

Flug shook his head in disbelief and took one last measured glance at the bear, who was peeking carefully out of his barred window. They waved pitifully at each other before the psychiatrist left, and I kept my eyes on him for as long as I was able. My guards trotted along dutifully after him, my guess to gossip.

This 505 character had his terrified gaze on me and I felt all my previous irritation return full force. I gave him a clear look of distain and he whined and shuffled but did not hide. I raised an eyebrow.

“It appears we are at an impasse, bear.” I lounged lazily against my door. “I cannot provoke you without due cause, and although your mere presence is quite vexing you haven’t actually done anything to warrant my aggression. At least, not according to our dear doctor.”

The bear made a noise that I suppose could technically be classified as speech. It was barbaric, but easy enough to decipher. 

“Because he asked me not to, and I vowed to him that I would not. Is that really so hard to believe, bear?”

There was a reply that told me in no uncertain terms that yes, it was very hard to believe. He sniffed the air and shuddered, providing another topic for the pointless conversation.

“So you can smell me? That isn’t uncommon among animals. I have a magnetic presence to many species.” Except humans – the dense, ignorant whelps that they were. “What of it?”

_‘Why doctor smell like you?’_

“I am his patient, bear, same as you. We don’t participate in…infernal displays of affection as unprofessional as you displayed earlier, but I have reminded him of his place. Surely you have noticed his limp from days ago?”

 _‘Dark spot,’_ the bear looked down at himself. I could see only to his neck and assumed he was referring to his chest or stomach.

“Dark spot? Do you mean a bruise?” The affirming nod made me chuckle. “Yes, that would be my mark. I have not seen it, personally, and I’m surprised you had that chance. Flug seems rather prude. What was the coloring?”

My unwanted neighbor grimaced and pointed at me. It took me but a moment to realize.

“A black bruise? Oh, how wonderfully nasty.” I tilted my head as the bear swallowed nervously and fidgeted. He seemed to share some traits with his care provider. “I can’t help but notice you are not restrained as I am. How have you managed that, bear?”

Shoulders shrugging and befuddled blinking were my answer. It set a bothersome twinge of jealousy into the brim of my hat, but I supposed it made sense. This thing was no danger to anyone. If I was being begrudgingly honest, he really didn’t belong in this place, either. 

I wondered if Flug shared a similar thought.

“Bear, I have another question.” He shook in place and it made me roll my eyes. “Come off it, I am only keeping up our small chat as a matter of necessity. I do not have the privileges to pass the time as you seem to.” 

This we seemed to agree on, at least, because the patient unfurled himself just a little and responded fairly less hesitantly. _‘What?’_

“What do you think of your doctor?”

 _‘Oh,’_ he cocked his big fluffy head at me, almost enough to trigger my gag reflex. _‘Good doctor, friend. Helps me. Plays with me. Best friend!’_ This statement was topped off with a horrendously cheerful, dimpled smile that had me flexing my claws within their confines. My accursed collar beeped at me in warning. 

“Is that all? Just shallow, silly things?” I started to turn away, feeling like I had wasted time even in its abundance. 

_‘Broken. Like me.’_

I stopped short and snapped my neck around to meet his gaze. I was so startled that I didn’t take pleasure in the bear’s wince from the sound of cracking bones. He looked very unsettled at my change in attitude but I cared very little to keep up appearances with this morsel of information just beyond my reach.

“What do you mean, broken.” It was expected of him, demanded of him, and he knew it.

 _‘Ah, ah…’_ the patient tucked his snout just below the window, to where I could not see his mouth. _‘I’m broken. Hurt. Hurt by people. Hurt by –’_ the bear cut himself off and started whining nonsensically. I recognized the signs of distress and was forced to back down in remembrance of my promise to my doctor.

“ _ **Goddamn it.**_ ” It took every ounce of willpower I had to step away from my door, but I did it successfully and slid down against the wall, crossing my legs and listening to the cursed bear whine and whimper and slowly come back to himself. 

I waited until there was definite silence from his side before I returned to my feet and peered out the window. I could see about half of the bear, laying on the floor and cuddling pathetically with a stuffed purple whale. 

Every time I learned something about Dr. Flug, it only seemed to lead to more questions. He had a delicious sort of darkness, and from what I gathered was very protective of his inmates to the point of gaining a rare expression of bravery. There was little doubt he would go to great lengths for the bear, if not all of his patients. It made me wonder whether he’d extend that protectiveness to my person.

He was also apparently ‘broken’, but in what way and how much remained to be seen. It frustrated me greatly, forced to watch my words and my actions in this horrible prison when all I wanted to do was take.

That bear was a nuisance. He was a nuisance before he arrived, for causing my confrontation with my doctor and making Flug act the way he did, the root of my bemusing contradictions. The bear was even more of a nuisance now that I knew he had such valuable information but could crack so easily. I would have to tread very carefully to get what I desired. 

One thing was undoubtable however – this patient was more useful to me than I first thought. How useful exactly was the question, but the feeling in what passed as my ‘gut’ told me it was very, very much so. And it all revolved around one solitary little twig of a human who hid his identity behind paper and seemed just as breakable. 

A most peculiar day indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a day late because I could NOT get the conversation between BH and 505 right for the life of me. I think I rewrote it at least 3 times. This is the best I could get for it. 
> 
> Good news: I have figured out a definite ending for this story. Related news: It might be a while before we get there. I know I tagged this as slow burn, but I honestly have no idea how long this is going to get. I hope you guys are willing to be in for a long haul, because that's the worst case scenario and I'm bracing down for it myself.
> 
> Also, I have decided to give Mr. Bandana Nurse the name Duke, because 2 different people suggested it and I thought that fits pretty well (even though they all fit, I loved them all, thank you guys). See ya next week!


	10. Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug picks up a package and is forced into an unpleasant situation with unpleasant ramifications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for implied graphic violence and strong derogatory homophobic slurs and prejudice. This is a heavy one, folks, be careful.

After the whole ‘moving 505 to his new room and trying to keep Black Hat from killing us both’ fiasco, Flug was entirely prepared to sit in the security room watching security feed of the two most secure cells for the rest of the night, sleep be damned. He’d already set himself up in one of the desk chairs, with paperwork, a decent neck pillow and at least 1,500 grams of nonperishable foods. This was mostly thanks to his sudden, bizarre camaraderie with Lucas – and Ben, to a lesser extent – who gave him access to the screens and got the other guards off his back.

He had finally gotten comfortable in the swivel chair, armed with a granola bar and a formal request for time off for that EPPA convention in two months, with his legs propped up and his bag snugly fit against the pillow, when one of his phones buzzed. It was the one in his left coat pocket, which signaled a personal message instead of a work one from the phone stuck in his right. Flug grumbled to himself and shifted to reach for it, and found an email for the arrival of an order of cosmetics from the website recommended to him from the nurse. 

That order had been fairly expensive, and the last thing he needed was for it to sit unguarded at the local post office for who knew how long. 

Despite his severe misgivings, the psychiatrist was forced out of his vigilant post and away from the security feeds, taking his provisions with him. He knocked on the doorframe to get the closest guard’s attention, explaining the situation and asking for a temporary fill-in while he went to retrieve his package.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” she batted her lashes at him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

It didn’t really make him feel better. 

On the way out of the lobby, Flug was so stuck in his worries that he nearly collided with a nurse carrying a large bundle of standard patient uniforms. Clothes fluttered to the ground in heaps and left the poor girl with only a single pair of pants in her grasp. 

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so,” he crouched at the same time she did and they collided heads, causing both to fall back on their butts and rub their new respective bumps. “Owww…”

“Nnngh,” the nurse’s eyes were barely visible past her dreadlocks, which cascaded down to her chest. She lifted her head to look up at him and recognized his face at the same time he read her nametag.

It was Susie, the quiet nurse he had given 505’s prescription to nearly a week ago. It felt like much, much longer. They sat awkwardly across from each other with large eyes, then simultaneously realized the uniforms were still on the floor. The girl hastily made to pick them up and Flug wasted no time in joining her, grateful for something else to distract him.

“I’m – I’m really sorry about that.” He offered meekly, keeping his head down and away from her. If he’d looked up he would have noticed she was doing the same.

“No, no it’s no trouble,” Susie mumbled, embarrassment present in the red flush across her dark warm cheeks. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Ah, m-me too.” They got all the fallen clothes together and began the tedious process of folding and stacking each pair. Flug was painfully aware of the large metal clock ticking away above the entrance. As soon as the last shirt was placed on top of the pile he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

“Thank you,” the nurse carefully hefted the uniforms as she stood up, putting one hand on top to keep it steady. She looked more closely at him. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, Dr. Slys. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve been j-just great,” the psychiatrist resisted the childish urge to tap his foot. “A lot on my plate with a new p-patient, that’s all. Everything’s great.”

“That’s good.” Susie shuffled, a bit more relaxed now. “We’ve all been worried about you, Doctor. That crim – that new inmate, Black Hat, all the nurses avoid his room and I don’t know how you can do it. How are you so brave?”

“I’m not, um, I’m not brave. Not that brave. It’s just my job.” Flug brushed out his lab coat, head ducked. “I appreciate your c-concern, really, but I’m fine. Nothing I can’t survive – handle! Nothing I can’t handle,” he amended quickly at her pinched face.

“Okay…” the nurse bit her lip. “That’s…good to hear, Dr. Slys. But we’re here to help – the nurses. If you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I won’t,” the words were sincere. “Thank you and…” he gestured jerkily at the clothing, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Susie shook her head, grateful smile dimpling her face. “No, it happens. They’re dirty anyway.” 

They parted ways a little less awkwardly than they had met, and Flug felt relatively happy until he caught a glimpse of the clock and nearly had an aneurysm. Sprinting down the building steps and into the parking lot, the psychiatrist reached his reserved parking space in the span of fifteen seconds and had to take a quick breather against his car.

It was a silver Chevrolet Cobalt, modeled in 2008 and in good condition. Wasn’t fancy, wasn’t what most of his staff had, but it got the job done and he was going to use it for all it was worth before getting anything else. Besides, no one suspected someone of his occupation drove anything like this. Better for avoiding media after a press conference or whatever else.

Better for keeping a low profile. It kept him safe.

The post office was almost completely void of people, thank god, and Flug waited as patiently as he could while the postal worker checked through his ID and verified the transaction. The package wasn’t too big to fit in his arms, but the skewed weight had him juggling it clumsily as he strode briskly back to his car. He stuck it in the passenger seat and buckled it up for good measure. Safety first and all that. 

Instead of taking it back to his apartment, he made an executive decision to just drop it off in his office before resuming his watch of 505’s situation. That decision was regretted quite a bit when he was halfway down the hall and turned the corner only to stare at the barrel chest of Dr. Bautista.

His luck really sucked sometimes.

The other psychiatrist looked down his nose as if the doctor wasn’t worth his head turn, but then his eyes lighted on the box in Flug’s hands and did a double take.

“Make-up? You bought make-up?” He sneered in a way that had Flug gritting his teeth. “I didn’t know you were that kind, Dr. Slys.”

“Excuse me,” the psychiatrist tried to walk around, but Bautista matched his step backwards and folded his arms, making it nearly impossible to move forward without brushing into him. “Please, Doctor, I really need to get through.”

“Is that why you had me kicked off the inmate’s case? Scared I’d see this?” The larger man stabbed an angry finger into the package, almost knocking Flug off balance with the force of the tap. “Is this what’s under that dumb bag? Shit like this?”

“I d-don’t need to explain anything to you. A-And I asked you to move.” He tried to shove past but was stopped again. The box creaked a little under his grip. “Dr. Bautista, please, I talked to the director a-and she approved my request, th-that’s all there is to it. She wants us t-to work out our differences and I can’t do that if you won’t let me through!”

There was a tense moment of standoff, but Flug was sick of this day and sick of bullies with names of the letter B and he refused to be the first to crack. His coworker’s hard gaze trailed down to the box again, a defeat hidden behind contempt.

“Is this why you wanted my intern, too? Gonna make him dress up like those freaks on TV? Turn him into a queer, like you?”

_‘you’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer?’_

Flug sucked in a breath and Bautista realized in that instance what he’d said, what he was doing. The bigger man metaphorically backpedaled and looked nervously around for any sign of other employees. 

“Forget it, forget what I said. Do whatever the hell you want, he’s your intern now anyway, he’s not worth my time. And neither are you.” The psychiatrist pivoted on his heel and stalked away, eyeing nearby closed doors apprehensively as he went.

Left behind was a psychiatrist struggling to keep himself from falling apart right there in the hall. 

He booked it for his office, hands shaking so much that the box’s contents rattled haphazardly. The moment he reached his little sanctuary and the door was shut Flug collapsed to his knees, hunched over the package and headwear pressed into its top. 

This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to have moved past this, give or take a paper bag and some shaky stuttering. He had moved past it, hadn’t had such a bad episode since before the Institute, before restraining scary inmates and psycho patients and dealing with…whatever Black Hat was. 

But the memory bubbled up in familiar sickness and the doctor had just enough sense to reach up and lock the handle above him, fingers trembling with the effort. His hand dropped, boneless in his lap, and Flug stared in horrified awe as the yellow glove disappeared, the white lab coat disappeared. In its place was exposed pale skin, with the red overcoat clashing terribly with the icy ground and the snowy air. He couldn’t feel the cold, _but it was right there, right there and he was back he was –_

_A cough made him look up._

_It was a group of five men, all their heads shaved to the bone and with near-matching tattoos right at the nape of their necks – barely visible from the high-collared heavy blue jackets they shared. He was not one of them, had never seen them before and hoped never to again, but a job was a job and he wasn’t going to complain, especially not here. They were mostly ignoring him anyway, grumbling to themselves about the frigid wind as they all waited behind that warehouse._

_Their hit wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes at least, however, and he could sense their restlessness even as he pulled and twitched at his coat. He hadn’t had the chance to do his good-luck straighten-up routine when he’d left this morning, and it was filling him with irrational, irritating dread._

_One of the smaller skinheads finally got bored enough to look his way, and he bit his tongue and kept his expression carefully neutral as the man approached._

_“So you’re, like, really the guy helpin’ us out here?” It was said nonchalantly, in the tone of someone who very literally had nothing else better to do._

_“That’s right,” he replied, eyes landing somewhere just under the other’s gaze. Directness was dangerous, was seen as challenge, but avoiding the face altogether was often seen as an insult. He’d toed this beam plenty of times and was well-versed in the physical whisperings of others._

_The man scrubbed at the thick line of stubble under his jaw, itchy and miserable from the cold. “So what’s your deal, then? She said you were German, like honest to god bloodline and everything.”_

_He stilled the movements of his hands. “Yes, I am. My name was on the contract, if I remember right.”_

_“Oh, yeah,” more scratching, “that’s right, I saw your name, yeah. That really was German, huh. You ever think about joinin’ one of us ‘stead of her? Less rules and shit.”_

_“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced over at the rest. One or two were starting to pay attention. “It’s really good pay, I guess. And she lets me use her lab, I can build whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s hard to leave a setup like that, you know?”_

_“Sure,” the skinhead reached a scarred hand to his neck and rubbed aggressively at the inflamed skin under his swastika. It was very recent, possibly within the last few days if his math was right._

_“Stop fuckin’ with it,” gruffed one of the largest members, who stood and stretched before stepping heavily to join the two. “It’ll get infected and then you’re gonna cry like a bitch for weeks.”_

_“I ain’t gonna cry like no bitch,” the obvious newbie snarled, agitated by the cold and the teasing. “Only bitches here are all of you, huddled together over there for warmth. It’s pathetic.”_

_“Mm,” the older, larger man looked over the non-member with a skeptical look to his eye. “You’re kinda scrawny for your age, aren’t you? For your work?”_

_He kept his face clear, going for a simple shrug of shoulders and a slight fiddle of his coat zipper. It wasn’t the first time hearing this question doubting his appearance, but he had come prepared and equipped and demonstration would persuade these men much more than words. If only the damn target would show up._

_“He kinda looks like a queer.”_

_The suggestion was much more unexpected and he stiffened up, eyes moving very slowly to look at the newbie, who sneered and stared at him with newfound amusement._

_“Izzat true? You a queer?”_

_“No,” he said, firm and strong and leaving no room for suspicion. “I’m a scientist.”_

_The bigger, older man gave a few deep, rumbling chuckles and nudged his irritated companion. “That was a good one, come on.”_

_“Wasn’t nothing,” the younger one responded, shadowed face getting darker every second. “It wasn’t even an answer. I thought he’d at least give me an answer. You afraid of something, kid? Got something to hide?”_

_“Don’t call him kid, you’re barely growing pubes, idiot.”_

_The two skinheads started slinging insults at each other, and the rest of the gang was perking up at the sight. In the meantime he edged away, very slowly and as quiet as he could be in the snow. His sense for danger was always reliable and it was telling him that if their hit didn’t arrive soon, something was going to happen._

_Something very, very bad._

_Of course, he was only about a meter further from the verbal brawl before the newbie turned angrily back to him and spat at the ground._

_“Just answer the fucking’ question, Aryan. You gay or not?”_

_“I’m not gay,” he insisted, but this question was not one he had mastered a safe answer to, had never had to before, and something must have shown on his face, in his voice, in his words maybe – because the larger, older man straightened up abruptly with practiced ease. The gaze of the young new one became sharp and predatory and hovered somewhere between eagerness and loathing._

_It wasn’t until all five began to circle him that he realized he was hitting the cold back of the warehouse._

_“Repeat that for me,” said the older, larger skinhead, and he was starting to think this one was the leader, the way he seemed to tower above them all and demanded respect, and an honest answer._

_“I’m not – gay!” He insisted again, words slipping only because of the sudden closeness of one man to his right. It startled him into a voice crack and that was all the prompting they needed. He was pinned to the wall by three different pairs of hands and his head smacked painfully against the metal._

_“Hang on, hang on guys,” hissed a voice belonging to one pair of grasping hands. “We gotta do the job first, right? She’s not gonna pay us if we don’t do the job.”_

_“I’m not working with a fucking fag,” hissed another. “Got enough of that shit in the world already, it doesn’t belong here with real people. It’ll taint us all if we don’t stop it.”_

_“But I’m not – I’m not…!” He tried to cry out just as a gloved hand slapped him hard and stung worse than the cold ever could._

_“Shut up.” It was the newbie, eyes blazing and manic. “You’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer? Bet you’ve been wanting to fuck all of us this whole time, huh. Bet it really gets you off bein’ around real men for once.”_

_“What should we do with him?” Asked the hesitant one again. “You know she’ll put a hit out on us if we kill him, you – you guys know that.”_

_“I know,” rumbled the larger, older man quietly. He was standing behind them all, overseeing as was his position, but his gaze had landed on the back of the newbie’s neck. Something passed his visage, and for one moment there was no white in his eyes. “Pin him to the ground, on his back.”_

_They complied eagerly and he fought for every centimeter of height lost until someone got impatient and punched him hard in the stomach. He collapsed immediately, gasping for breath even as they stretched his arms out and sat on his legs._

_“Chase, give me your cigarette.”_

_“What?! Why the hell –”_

_“Just fucking give it to me!” The tone left no room for argument and he watched in stuck terror as a half-used cigarette traded hands to the older, larger skinhead, who walked around and crouched right above his head._

_He stared, pleading and cold and hurting and asking for a single shred of mercy. But they had both played this game for a long while and thus both knew there would be none._

_“I think,” the soulless black look was back. “The best way to do this,” a giant, meaty hand gripped painfully in his hair and stilled his shaking head. “Is to show our employer exactly what we think of little creatures like you poisoning our perfect race.”_

_The burning tip hovered a millimeter from his wet right cheek._

_“You said you’re German. I think it’s time to embrace your roots.”_

_The tip came down._

And Flug cried silently into his square paper mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 505 wasn't kidding around about his doctor having problems. So now we know.
> 
> If anyone was triggered by something in this chapter, I'm so sorry. This is supposed to be horrific and shocking, but it's not my intention to push anyone into their own memories, no matter how similar or different their situation might be. I'll update the tags if you guys think it's needed. Just know that you're not alone out there, and there are places and people that can help. The world is full of arseholes and Bautistas but it's also full of hope, love, and the possibility of rising above. You can do it. I believe in you.
> 
> On a side note, if anyone's worried about Susie and Flug becoming a "thing", rest assured that will not happen here. Susie is going to play a bigger part in the story but I wouldn't dare do something like a love triangle or unrequited feelings with an OC here. Promise. 
> 
> (On another side note, I caved and have started posting this story on my shiny new tumblr, [whisker-biscuit](https://whisker-biscuit.tumblr.com/). I'm still learning how to navigate over there, so sorry in advance.)


	11. L'Oréal for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug recovers from his attack. Dementia knows exactly what to do, in her own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now [fanart](https://whisker-biscuit.tumblr.com/post/173175079328/cristinala-lady-whisker-biscuit-fanart-for-the) by the lovely [lady-bepou](https://lady-bepou.tumblr.com/) for this chapter! Please check it out and support this wonderful artist!

By the time the flashback had ended and Flug came back to himself, the digital clock on his desk glowed 21:02 in comfy blue. The room was dark otherwise and his body was stiff, lying sideways on the carpet and wrapped around the cosmetics box. He had been here for over two hours.

How time flies when you’re in shock.

Stretching turned out to be a bad idea, because the moment the psychiatrist flexed his legs he felt an uncomfortable twinge and then awful, muscle-locking pain. He grit his teeth and began massaging at his cramping left calf, curled up again.

It passed after a few agonizing minutes. Flug grimaced and tested out his body carefully, getting up on shaky, throbbing legs and mindful of every threatening spasm. Nothing else came of it though and he sagged against his door, clutching the package to his chest with his head tilted upward. He was still trembling like the cold of that horrible nightmare of a day. As he calmed down and straightened himself up, the clock ticked to 21:11.

“Okay, okay.” The doctor winced his way to his desk, setting the box down while he patted at his headwear for tears and tearstains. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a new bag as well as a pair of scissors, and began the painstaking task of cutting perfectly round goggle holes into the crisp paper. After it was finished Flug took off his ruined bag and replaced it with the new one as quick as he could. Adjusting the goggles around it was fast and easy enough, but then he found himself staring at the package that had caused the entire incident. Well. He had already decided he was staying at the institute tonight, and he already had scissors in his hand, so why not take care of this troublemaker and be done with it?

Working through the masking tape gave him something to do, and that took his mind off things. There had been a time, before everything, when his greatest works had come about by tinkering and messing with items of unassuming nature. Now it was doing menial tasks – triple-checking paperwork, dropping in on patients, clearing his office of new dust particles, his routine – that helped him turn things around in a more logical way. He needed to get back to the security room to watch 505 and Black Hat, sure, but first he needed this to recover.

The box was filled with bubble wrap and cardboard. Flug took care to pull each protected thing out individually and place it on the desk until nothing remained in the stamped package. He systematically broke it down to flatness and put it under his feet to keep the shape from popping back up, then took out his phone for the make-up order checklist he had done during the initial transaction.

Everything was accounted for; lipstick in red, pink, and blue, three mascara brushes of varying thickness, brown and black eyeliner (gel of course), a giant eye shadow palette with twelve colors (mostly blues and greens and reds), natural blush, and some concealer in Dementia’s exact skin tone (he had the records to ascertain it). For the amount he had purchased, the site had even thrown in a complementary bottle of “Spring Passion” perfume. He could smell it through the seal.

The last thing his hyper patient needed was a strong odor to douse herself with and destroy someone’s nose, so Flug rearranged a spot for it in a drawer to give it to his nurse later as a thank-you present. After that he put the make-up back in the box with the wrap – Dementia loved popping that stuff – and hoisted it up onto the top of a bookshelf. He’d come back for it in the morning before her appointment.

It wasn’t a very long walk from his office to the security office, but most of his coworkers had clocked out for the evening and now the first floor was like a haunted hospital. Of course when he reached his campout, the monitors had long been abandoned by whoever he’d asked to watch them, and a good portion of his snacks were gone too. The psychiatrist rolled his eyes but there wasn’t much he could do about it and he was too tired anyway.

So he settled down for the second time, looked at one glowing screen of 505 sleeping fitfully in his stuffed animal nest and another screen of Black Hat sitting cross-legged in the middle of his room. The inmate was unmoving, his eyes open and unfocused, and Flug had to wonder if he was meditating.

He himself didn’t last very long, after the stress of the day and the trauma of the night. For one moment he was observing this, eyelids at half-mast and limbs curled in fetal position on the chair, and the next moment someone was shaking his shoulder hesitantly. The doctor groaned and felt his neck creak uncomfortably as he woke up.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” It was Ben, who pulled his hand away quickly and looked altogether out of place. “Um, I know you said you’d be here for the night, Dr. Slys, but I kinda need my seat back. For a little while.”

Flug worked his stiff back into something moveable and glanced back and forth between the awkward guard and the screens. 505 was still lying in the same place as last night, listlessly tugging at a beanie dog with one paw. Black Hat was stalking the perimeter of his room in perfect, evenly-spaced steps. Ben above him stood and waited.

“Ah, mm,” the psychiatrist stood up, “sorry about that, I’ll g-get my stuff. Sorry for the mess.”

“It’s no problem…” the guard murmured to himself and crossed his arms. “You can come get it later, if you want. It’s almost 10:30 anyway, what’s a few more hours.”

“Wait, wait what? Did you s-say 10:30?!”

“Uh, yeah.” Ben cocked his eyebrows at the panicking doctor. “Why, got somewhere to be?”

Well Flug was definitely awake now. He crammed a handful of trail mix under his bag and into his mouth and scooped up his neck pillow and his paperwork, zooming past a disgruntled Ben and booking it to his room in record time. Dementia’s appointment was at 11, and Martin was supposed to be at his door ready to go by 10:45. He had missed so much work already.

The paperwork was stacked haphazardly on his desk – it would bother him until he fixed it later but there was no time now – the pillow was tossed on the chair and the box of cosmetics was pulled off the bookcase. He added a little pocket mirror to the stash as well as a last minute decision. Then Dementia’s special keychain was put in his lab pocket, their sole purpose to release her from her straightjacket restraints.

Belatedly, he realized that he’d been doing an awful lot of this rushing around thing, this on-the-verge-of-being-late-but-not-quite thing. It was something he would have to stop before it got out of hand, and later he’d need to address whatever the source of the problem was, but right now wasn’t the time because as he ran through his self-check routine and tidied his bag and clothing Martin was already knocking politely.

He opened the door and shoved the makeup box into the intern’s surprised hands with a ‘here, don’t drop it’ and locked his office, stepping quickly towards the elevator with a confused teenager at his heels.

Fucking flashbacks.

...

Dementia was bouncing along the walls. Literally. She had discovered one time that the padding surrounding her made for a great bumper when she jumped on her bed and rammed into anything else. Sometimes she would hit the wall or floor with her feet and shoulders so hard it sent her in the opposite direction. Her current record was a whole whopping meter, and today she was going to break that record if it bruised her.

But then she heard footsteps coming her way and had to stop mid-ram. None of the stiffs here appreciated her talent for boinging, and they were always trying to get her to knock it off without actually coming into her room. They were cowards, all of them.

Well, except maybe – 

Dr. Flug’s blocky face appeared at her window and Dementia bounded over in two jumps. She smooshed her face against the bars and he gave her a long look. She poked her tongue out at him and giggled, moving away from the door so he could unlock it.

“It’s about time!” She cried, hopping from one impatient foot to the other as her doctor and that dumb intern took their sweet time coming in. “I know there’s not a clock in here, Doc, but come oooooon, you took forever! I almost – what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Flug mumbled as he looked really wrong. He had bags under his eyes so deep she could see them through his bag – hehe – and he sort of jerked whenever he moved, like a zombie. The girl eyed him suspiciously. 

“You better not be a real life zombie hiding under Flug’s clothes. Cause if you are, I know karate.”

“I highly doubt you ever learned karate, Dementia.”

“Did too! And don’t think for one second just cause I’m all tied up I won’t kick your ass, Zombie Flug.” She looked over at Martin, all nervous and twitchy. “Your intern doesn’t look too good either, did you infect him?”

“No one infected anyone. Can we stay on task here, today, and not talk about fantasy stuff? Please?” He had this really sad look in his goggles that actually made her pause from the joke on her lips.

“…fine.” The girl sat obediently on her bed so Flug could safely remove her jacket, and felt her arms protest the change in position. “Ohhhh…that’s so nice,” she moaned aloud as she stretched her hands high above her head.

Someone coughed and Dementia gave an annoyed glare at the intern, who shuffled behind her doctor with a weird box in his arms. It perked her interest immediately.

“What’s in the box?” She stood up, still stretching, and Flug took the package from Martin and sat down with it in the middle of the room. The two teenagers followed suit.

He took out each item one by one and Dementia lit up with excitement as she recognized the brand names and their purposes. She cooed happily, reaching out to pick up the red lipstick and examining it. Her psychiatrist tossed the box to the side with a flick of his wrist. He was obviously still in a bad mood but she knew he wasn’t going to bring it up and besides, there were very important things here now.

“Oh Fluggy, this is so cool! How’d you smuggle these in, huh? Didja bribe the guards? Wear a big trench coat and walk it in? Turn off all the cameras and make it look like they broke? Tell me!”

“No, no, and no,” he responded, sounding just a little less tired. “I asked one of the medical nurses for recommendations, had everything delivered.”

“Well that doesn’t sound fun at all. Ooh, is that green eye shadow I spy?” She lunged for the case in her doctor’s fingers and ended up with a gloved hand holding her back at her forehead. Flug had this weird look through his bag and she backed off respectfully. Today wasn’t a contact day. That was fine, especially cause he gave her the case anyway.

“I brought a, a little mirror too, if you need it.” The psychiatrist offered it to her, all shiny and flashy, and she snatched it up just as quick. “Thought we could spend the whole period doing this if you’d like to.”

“You can bet your license I want to,” Dementia was already applying the brown eyeliner. “God, I’m so out of practice, my eyes won’t stop blinking. Shit.”

“Here, let me help.” Flug held the mirror steady so she had both hands free to keep her face from twitching. After finishing one eye, she turned this way and that to check for problem spots. Then she looked up at her doctor and studied his masked face.

“I think black would help hide those hideous bags, you know.” She beckoned him closer and, even though he rolled his eyes and hesitated, Flug eventually complied by leaning in. She drew just under the goggles, very careful not to touch him with anything but the pen. He looked very grateful for it.

By the door, the intern scoffed a little, making them both turn in surprise. Dementia had honestly forgotten he was here. With two sets of questioning eyes set on him, Martin hunched in on himself.

“Why are you letting her put makeup on you? Makeup’s for girls.”

Said girl let her eyes narrow into slits. “Excuse you, but he can do whatever the hell he’d like, and so can I. What’s your problem?” She felt triumphant heat at his sudden, nervous expression.

“I don’t have a problem,” he argued. “It’s just wrong. It looks weird.”

“Why you –!”

“Dementia, calm down.” Flug touched her shoulder briefly to stop her bristling. “Martin, d-do you know how makeup originated? Where it came from?”

“No.”

“Did you know that ancient Egyptians, men and women, used a form of eyeliner to make those wing-shapes on their eyes like in history books? It was especially common among nobility.”

“I...didn’t know that, no.”

“And in Europe, a lot of men and women used makeup to make their skin appear paler too, to make it look like they didn’t do a lot of manual labor. Again, really common with the upper classes.”

“Oh.”

“So I like to think of it like this; I’m not usually one to wear makeup, and don’t really have a need or want for it, what with my headgear and all, but sometimes people like to spoil themselves. Today I’m spoiling Dementia, because she’s shown good behavior…for the most part. And she’s returning the favor by letting me in on something she enjoys. Does that sound wrong to you?”

“Not really, I mean,” Martin looked reluctantly thoughtful. “I guess not.”

“So there you go. Besides, even if society sees it as wrong, well, we’re kind of far away from society, aren’t we?”

Dementia snickered and loosened up as she watched the intern ponder this quietly. She didn’t usually think of herself as someone who got defensive easily, but Flug was probably the only one she’d extend the privilege to. Partially cause he didn’t really need it very much.

“Now, Dementia, I think you still need to finish my left goggle, correct?” He turned expectantly toward her. She cackled with a waggle of her tongue.

“Only if you hold still, dumb doctor.”

They worked in comfortable silence, a strange but welcome thing with Dementia present. Martin eventually scooted to her right side to watch her work, not saying a word but not as obviously disapproving as he had been. 

“Listo,” she announced with a flourish, pulling the gel pen away and admiring her handiwork. Flug’s goggles had thin lines of black looped under them in a way that didn’t look unnatural or tacky. Instead, they seemed to add to his expressiveness and it made her smile. She’d also added toner to the bag itself and had tried to blend it as best as she could, as well as a touch of the pink lipstick to give him the illusion of a mouth.

Not a crap-ton like she preferred, but he didn’t look half bad.

Martin seemed to share her thoughts, because he was openly staring at the psychiatrist’s face with clear astonishment. Flug looked between them, confused, until his patient gave him the mirror. He tapped at the bottom edges of his bag.

“Huh,” he said softly, handing the mirror back. “That’s really nice, Dementia. Subtle. Well, subtle with a bag anyway. Thanks.”

“You bet! Now hold the mirror while I finish my face.” He complied and she went back to her silent work. Doing this hadn’t always required her to be quiet to focus, but months of idleness could do that to you. 

It took much longer for the inmate to be satisfied with her own looks. Thick brown eyeliner, lizard green eyeshadow, and long lashes boosted by mascara gave her a predator gaze. Every possible blemish was covered by the concealer and accented by the blush applied to her cheeks, and heavy blue lipstick giving the beautiful impression of suffocation.

Dementia was in seventh heaven.

Martin, in the end, still refused to let her try anything on him (which was a shame in her mind – he had real potential for red with that pretty skin) but helped them clean everything up with no complaints and still seemed thoughtful about the whole experience. Flug reached for the box when it was suddenly ripped from his hands from the eager girl across from him.

“Hey, so, did you bring any hair dye?”

“Sorry, but I think that’s against policy. Strong chemicals.” He backpedaled at the crestfallen look on her painted face. “But I can ask! I can ask, for next time. Um. I think you can keep the makeup on for the day, I’ll come back tonight to help clean it off.”

“Aww, that sucks though,” the girl whined but didn’t argue further. She understood the rules. Didn’t mean she had to like them. “Can we do this again next week? When my arms are free again? This was super-duper fun!”

“We can do that,” Flug smiled sincerely as he stepped over to her discarded straightjacket. “Oh yeah, I’ve got bubble wrap for our next therapy session tomorrow. Sound good?”

“BUBBLE WRAP!!” Dementia jumped up and twirled around, hands spread-eagle and almost smacking the poor intern. “¡ENVOLTURA DE BURBUJAS! Ehhhhh, Flug how do you say it in German?!”

“Luftpolsterfolie.”

“Lu-luftpuds…THAT WORD! Fuck yeah!” She fist-pumped at the air and danced around her psychiatrist as he tried to approach her with the restraining outfit. “No, Fluggy, you can’t tell me something like that and expect me to just get back in the jacket, come on!”

“I’m sorry Dementia, I really am, but it’s been two hours and you know they’ll have my tail if you’re not properly restrained.”

“Ooh, a tail, you know I’d love a tail. Like that one movie, what was it called? X-Men?” She stopped to think about it and let her doctor get close for once.

“I don’t think anyone had a tail in that movie, Dementia.” He opened one arm of the jacket and she reluctantly slipped into it.

“You’re probably right, I haven’t seen that movie in forever.” In went the other arm, and then Flug was locking every buckle in place. He didn’t even need to ask if something was too tight; they’d been doing this together for a while now.

“Okay, everything’s secure. That’s it then. I’m glad you’re doing well today.”

She was doing amazing today. She felt pretty, so pretty, and nothing in this shitty world could take that away from her. And she had bubble wrap to look forward to! She said as much to them again and Martin shook his head in confusion.

“You sure do get excited over small things.”

“Well _duh-doy_ , Intern Boy, of course I do. Not much else to get excited about around here. Blockhead.” He looked like he might get offended by that so she sighed loudly and clarified. “Don’t worry, you’re not as much of a blockhead as Flug here. I don’t think anyone will ever manage that.”

“Mhm,” her doctor hummed and locked the cell door. “I might be a blockhead, Dementia, but you’re a drama queen.”

“I am not,” she gasped dramatically (but not too dramatically), “and you’re just a chiquito anyway. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Well you’re a schnuckelschneke.”

“Hey, no fair! I don’t know that one! No different languages!”

“You’re the one who switched to Spanish first, I’m just returning the favor.”

“No you’re not, you’re cheating! Quit cheating!”

As they went back and forth, Martin was left standing awkwardly in between and trying very hard to keep up with both the conversation and its significance. He was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to insult patients. Then again, he’d also been pretty sure that the psychiatrist had hated him at one point and that Dementia wanted to kill him. So he chalked it up as something exclusive only to these two and resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably be dealing with it for a long time.

He couldn’t deny, though, that Dr. Slys left looking a lot happier than he had coming in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo we broke 400 kudos! My goodness, you guys are the absolute best! 
> 
> I've been waiting forever for this chapter because 1) I love that image of Dementia and Flug hanging out over makeup and 2) I'm the biggest sucker for fluff. Also, I didn't think anything could top "bubble" as my favorite funny-cute word but have you heard the German word luftpolsterfolie? The pronunciation on that cracks me up. 
> 
> Question for the readers: what kind and color nail polish do you think the Villainous cast would wear? I'm feeling navy blue for 505, a muted orange for Flug, those specialty decorated ones for Dementia (each nail is a different lizard species, except for one pinky which is obviously a cat), and anatomic red for Black Hat (he actually wears his enemies' blood as paint lol, it’s always wet and dripping).


	12. Collar Queries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't stick your nose where you're not supposed to.

_Inspector Daniels,_

_How have you been? I have been well. I know that you wanted a weekly report and it has only been five days but considering this is Sunday, I assumed it would be the best time to –_

No, that was too informal.

_Inspector Daniels,_

_The first report on the progress of Patient #513 is as follows: Patient has been consistently hostile and adverse to treatment. He has assaulted or attempted to assault primary psychiatrist several times and –_

No, big no, he’d be seen as incompetent. 

_Inspector Daniels,_

_Regarding the weekly report you requested for Patient #513, I am pleased to inform you that we have successfully set up a momentary schedule for his psychological health and rehabilitation. I will attach a calendar of the patient’s schedule at the end of this report for your review. Regarding the patient’s behavior this past week…_

Flug took a hand off his keyboard to rub absentmindedly at his goggles. This shouldn’t be this hard. All he had to do was tell one of the top inspectors of Interpol that Black Hat had assaulted him once already and came close to doing it several other times afterwards. Normally that fact wouldn’t have been an issue because he’d had to share events like that to his director; dangerous inmates were a dime a dozen at the Institute. 

But here he was trying to convince a skeptical international enforcer that he was both able-bodied and responsible enough to handle possibly the most dangerous criminal since Albert Fish. No big deal, he could do that.

Yesterday’s session with Dementia had helped him come back to himself, enough so that he was bouncing into his work with a little more willingness than usual after such a rough episode. The only paperwork left to deal with was this dumb report and he hadn’t even kept an outline to make it easier.

Ah well, outlines were more trouble than they were worth anyway.

In an attempt to clear his head, Flug saved the draft and minimized all of his tabs, pushing away from his desk and standing up to stretch. He briefly thought of asking Dr. Rorschach for help, but that idea left as soon at it came. He’d been pestering her a lot lately; in fact this last week was probably the most he’d ever seen her in so little time. Requesting assistance on a simple report was beneath her and frankly beneath him as well.

Determined to get the thing done, he started walking the perimeter of his office, starting at the left side of the door and going clockwise, estimating the centimeters of his steps almost exactly. The doctor looked at the floor as he did so, and made nearly three loops before deciding that wasn’t productive enough. So instead he grabbed his key chain, adjusted his clothing, and peeked out the door for signs of coworkers. He hadn’t forgotten what – _who_ had triggered his flashback the day before, even if Bautista hadn’t realized what he’d done.

Flug wouldn’t let the bastard make that mistake again.

With no sign of anyone, the psychiatrist promptly locked his door and hurried his way to the security office, where he was welcomed in by Lucas.

“Hey, Doc, it’s been a few days. How ya been?” The guard followed Flug as he headed straight for the security feeds of Floor 5.

“I’ve, been better. It’s been rough,” he admitted quietly, plopping down in front of the live videos of Black Hat and 505. Lucas made an attempt to console but the doctor cut him off. “How long have you been here? How have the patients been? Anything unusual?”

“Uh…I’ve been here for a few hours, yeah.” Lucas scratched his chin. “Unusual? I don’t think so. The bear – 505, right? He’s been hanging out on his bed mostly; sometimes plays with a toy but mostly he’s been not so energetic. Is that unusual?”

Flug grimaced. “It d-didn’t used to be, but it is now. This isn’t a good place for him.”

“The, the institute isn’t a good place?”

“No – I mean yeah, you’re right, but it’s that new room he’s in. It’s dark down there, and more isolated, and the other patients on that floor are more…disturbed…and could start yelling or whatever and set him off and then there’s Black Hat who hasn’t _seemed_ to be bothering him, I don’t know, I took his word for it but what’s the worth of a criminal’s word, I mean really?!”

He knew he was rambling when his breath became shorter and his voice cracked at a higher pitch, and only managed to cut himself off at the question when Lucas patted concernedly at his shoulder and made him take a gasp of air. 

“Dude, it’s fine. Nothing happened.” The patting continued and Flug felt like screaming at the misplaced pity.

“Even if nothing happened, it’s not h-healthy for him!” _You don’t understand, the med doctors don’t understand, nobody **understands!** Why can’t someone get it?_

“If it makes you feel any better, Black Hat has been behaving himself.” Lucas thumbed at the monitor where the mentioned inmate was pressed sideways against one wall, face set in grim purpose. It looked like he was listening for something.

“I – really?” He had no reason to call this guard a liar, but he felt the skepticism was pretty justified.

“Yeah, he’s mostly just been, doing that.” Both guard and doctor watched the patient for a moment. “It’s really weird. Sometimes he kinda does this meditation-looking thing too? And sometimes he walks around the wall of his room.”

“Does he?” Flug remembered seeing something like that yesterday.

“Oh yeah, he’ll just walk right next to the wall, but he never touches anything. And his steps are like, spaced almost perfectly. It’s like he measures them out.”

The psychiatrist’s right hand twitched. “Is that so?” 

It was coincidence. A familiar, near replicated one, but a coincidence nonetheless. No reason to look more into it.

“Isn’t that weird?” Lucas peered at the glowing screen. “He’s so calm sometimes, all careful or motionless like this. But then he’ll turn right around and start biting at the walls or his mattress. One time we were right outside his cell and Ben was telling me about, something, I don’t remember, and then the inmate was suddenly screaming and we looked inside and he was all contorted and biting at his torso. His torso! Can you believe it?”

“I…” he thought of a neck cracking around 180 degrees and shook his head. “I think I can believe it. Not a p-pretty thing to picture though.”

“Man, you think it’s bad thinking about it, we got to see it! His whole spine was like a twisted piece of licorice, and his head was all bent upside down –”

“Okay, as m-much as I appreciate the image, I really, really don’t appreciate the image.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry.” The guard scratched his chin again. “Anyway, long story short he still couldn’t reach his restraints so, hooray for that I guess? I dunno, those Interpol guys told us he couldn’t do stuff like that anymore but I think they were just bullshitting us after all.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Like right after they dumped him in that cell, and you stayed? Ben asked about his supernatural powers and all that, which kinda surprised me cause I didn’t think of it first, and one of the officers told us that he can’t, like, shapeshift or disappear or anything anymore. Said it had to do with his collar.”

“The Inspector never mentioned anything like that to me, w-why wouldn’t he tell me that?”

Lucas shrugged. “He probably knew it was broken or whatever, didn’t want you panicking maybe? I don’t know. Don’t ask me dude, I thought you knew about it.”

“I knew the collar kept him restrained, but I assumed it was in relation to heart beat. Like a polygraph perhaps.” Flug played with his fingers and looked at the video feed. Black Hat had yet to move from his spot against the wall. “Did they mention how it works? In theory?”

“Ben asked, and they said, uh,” the guard closed his eyes and worked back to the conversation. “I think someone said it was supposed to know when he did something…unnatural? I don’t really get how you can measure that before it happens, but hey, doesn’t really matter. He’s still turning into a pretzel when he wants so I doubt it really does anything at all. Probably there for peace of mind.”

“I don’t know,” the doctor mused, goggles glinting at the idea of this new technology. “Peace of mind is one thing, but why wouldn’t Black Hat just escape? If he does have, powers like that, why wouldn’t he just leave when he wants or – or blow up the whole building, or whatever he’d do?”

Lucas looked nervous at the thought. “Man, don’t say things like that, you’ll jinx us all.”

“I’m serious though! If we’re really housing an all-powerful creature like that, how does one piece of technology keep him in check? And if it doesn’t, why hasn’t he left yet? Why would someone like Black Hat stay in a place like this for more than a minute?”

“I dunno, maybe…” the guard hesitated, a lot more uneasy now. “Maybe he’s biding his time for something. Like a, a certain day or, maybe waiting for some criminal friends to come.”

They stood together in shared horror at that thought, at the idea of Black Hat having allies lurking just outside their reach. Or of him sitting as he was now, meditating, planning for a certain day when he would simply wipe out everyone there. Flug suddenly had another awful thought.

“There was a press conference a few days ago; Interpol held it internationally.” He wrapped two fistfuls of lab coat. “Where Inspector Daniels announced that they had captured him, and they were holding him somewhere. They didn’t mention our name, thank god but, w-what if that’s all Black Hat’s been waiting for? What if he was waiting for them to announce it, and then he’d break out, k-kill a bunch of government workers and humiliate Interpol in the process?”

Lucas was very pale and gripped the back of the swivel chair so hard it made his knuckles white. Flug stood up and rushed straight for the door.

“Where are you going?” The guard cried after him.

“I’m going up t-to Floor 5, I’m going to talk to him.”

“What?! You can’t do that,” he followed the doctor out into the lobby. “That could set him off, or he could try to kill you again! It’s not safe!”

“Is Ben up there?” He looked back for Lucas’ affirming nod. “Good, he can join me then. I want you to stay here and watch the monitors. If – if nothing happens, or I’m the only one who gets hurt, fine. But if he uses this to escape, you need to be here to hit the p-panic button, okay?”

“But Doctor, this isn’t safe, you won’t be safe, just wait a minute –!”

But Flug was already in the elevator, and as the doors closed he locked eyes with the distressed guard. 

“Our top priority is keeping everyone safe, not just me. Do your job.”

And the elevator shut.

…

In coming to recognize Flug Slys’ twisted hidden nature so late, I have been forced to recognize two other things as well.

One: I obviously have fallen out of my habits of absorbing and analyzing the darkness as thoroughly as I used to. Yes, a fog can develop from the presence of so many humans possessing such sinister dispositions, and yes there is not much one can often do to separate and attribute one Dusk to one person in such a situation. But I am more refined than that. I may not be able to connect one sense to a human, but I had once been quite sufficient in identifying how many there were in a room, at the least. It no longer seems to be that way.

Two: In an expansion of the first point, I begrudgingly admitted to myself that if I couldn’t even make those common distinctions about the darker natures, then I could not expect to leave this place anytime soon. I had spent so much time learning about my cell, learning what might give with a little push here and there – the walls, the attire, or perhaps the loathsome human company – but I had not considered that I might have been a liability as well. The boredom and increasing time spent in the subconscious has not helped my case much at all.

The bear, although a holder of secrets about our dear Dr. Flug, would offer no help in my departure from this place – of that I am almost certain. And besides that, I gave my word that I would leave him alone so as not to cause discomfort. He had been increasingly, _whimpery_ , as more time has been spent here and I refused to risk going back on my agreement if the pathetic thing broke at the slightest provocation. I would have to wait longer to entice him into divulging what he knew.

Not an enjoyable condition, but a bearable one.

These last eight hours or so, I had instead given my attention back to my escape as well as honing my obviously neglected sense of human nature. As there is most likely at least two meters of solid concrete between me and the cell to my right – or whatever material they use to build things these days, it’s not worth the effort to learn – I had placed myself to the wall and concentrated only on the Dusk around me. Its qualities, its presence here compared to there, how many have been consumed by it, etc. A rigorous task it was, despite the lack of physical movement, but a necessary one. I needed to know who else lived on this pitiful floor.

I was close to estimating seven inmates when something stirred into the darkness, adding its own turmoil like a viscous, bubbly churn.

Now that I’ve had time to attune myself to my doctor’s specific darkness, it has been very easy to tell when he is present or at least nearing my vicinity. My location against the wall helped further that range today, because as I felt his delicious little energy I recognized it instantly. It was more provocative than usual, raging in a tempest. He was worked up about something, either from a recent event or at something in this very moment.

My instinct told me it was a combination of both.

When Flug pushed aside my single guard and came storming in, I wisely stayed in my spot, intrigued but not willing to provoke for fear of driving the emotions away. He was desperate, about what I could not say, and in a different way than when he had threatened me about his precious little bear.

“Doctor, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting a one-on-one with you until tomorrow.” Although lacking a clock, I refused to be left unaware of the date again, to be so vulnerable.

“I need to t-talk to you,” he panted, clearly out of breath and not in a position to converse. “It’s important.”

I blinked carefully at him. “About what, Doctor?”

“About – I mean,” Flug paused and lost some of his determination. He appeared much more like his usual skittish self. “I want to a-ask you about our, first meeting.”

“Do you now?” What a bizarre request. “Well Flug, you’ve caught me in a good mood. I suppose I can agree to that request.”

“Oh thank g – I mean good, that’s good. Um.” He glanced rather cowardly at the guard in the hallway, who ogled stupidly back and gave a moronic thumbs up. “Can you – will y-you tell me why you didn’t k-kill me?”

“What?” I stared at him. _What?_

“I, you t-told me that I was interesting and th-that’s why you haven’t, um. Killed me yet.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. What of it?” What was his game? Why bring this up? Most humans were so averse to the thought of dying. This one was usually the prime example of it.

“But uh – you, you were going t-to kill me. During our first meeting, you were on, on top of me and you w-were going to kill me.”

“We’ve established that, Flug. Get on with it already.” I couldn’t help the snap, but his stuttering was increasing tenfold and it was very irritating. I watched as he steeled himself and asked the question.

“Why didn’t you?”

My jaw dropped. “…Excuse me?”

“Why – why didn’t you kill me? You don’t, didn’t have any reason n-not to, that day.”

“Are you actually asking me why you aren’t dead right now? Doctor, I didn’t know you had those kinds of thoughts. Not very befitting for a mental health professional.”

“I’m not – that’s – can you just answer the question? P-Please?” He looked as though he might get on his knees to beg, and the image brought a crooked smile to ease out my incredulous expression.

“Well Flug, I would have thought you’d know the answer. You claim to be so smart after all. Did you not know it was with the aid of your security friends and the, emph, the revolting little thing around my neck?”

“Ah, well I f-figured that but,” Flug watched me as if I might explode. “But, h-how does it work, exactly? The collar.”

The inquiry made me grit my teeth. “That’s not a topic I’m willing to discuss, Flug.”

“So w-wait,” the doctor came closer to the center of the room, still giving me my deserved space. “Is it – how much does it block? Is it like, does it m-measure heartbeat or…”

“What makes you think I have a heartbeat, Flug.”

“Well no, th-that doesn’t make sense though, you w-were so calm when you, when you had me p-pinned.” He was drifting off, but just barely, and his eyes were becoming unfocused. I tensed. “Is it c-connected to brain waves? Or maybe –”

I sprung.

The force of my attack was enough to send us both crashing into the opposite wall. As the nitwitted guard fumbled outside for his keys, I pressed up against Flug in a way wholly similar to our first meeting. Oh the irony.

“Listen, Flug,” I growled, teeth curled against his petrified face. “If your only purpose for coming here is to rub this human-made piece of technological filth in my face then my only response would be to follow through on my threat to end your life.”

He squeaked and squirmed beneath me. But I was not done, and I would not repeat the mistake that caused my lock-up last time. My body remained humanoid.

“No, oh no, you are going to _listen to me_. I was thoroughly humiliated once and I will _**not**_ be humiliated again. Especially not by the likes. Of. You.” 

I could feel his rabbit pulse but took none of my usual pleasure from it. He had insulted me – unwitting or not, it did not matter – and that was a very heavy toll to be paid.

“Don’t ever mention this goddamned bloody thing in my presence. Do not even look at it in front of me. If I catch anything of the sort I will gouge out your eyes with the glass from your goggles. Do you understand, Flug?”

The pitiful doctor squeaked once more, a high octave of ‘yes’ that led to me releasing my weight from him. He slid down the wall and slumped right as the guard tried to physically pull me away from him. I snarled and nearly bit his hand off.

“Don’t fucking touch me you ingrate!”

He only complied in order to get around me and to Flug, who tried to stand and looked all the world like a thin stick of Jell-O. I sent a vicious kick to the back of his knee for good measure, causing him to collapse against the guard as they retreated.

No doubt I would lose privileges for this. They meant nothing to me anyway. I felt the wavering disappearance of my doctor’s darkness, and as soon as it was gone I flung myself at the door.

And I raged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late chapter guys! I got really sick over the weekend and I lost over half of this chapter at the same time, so rewriting it was a real pain in the gluteus maximus. I'm not even kidding when I say that Flug trying to write that email at the beginning was actually me trying to get my thoughts back together through muddled brain. On the bright side, we get to see some classic Black Hat temper today. Yay!
> 
> Quick shoutout to ofiuciocontuco for helping me figure out how to reconnect some scenes that weren't working before. You really got my writing groove back on track, thank you!
> 
> Here's a question: what's your favorite Black Hat rage moment from the series so far? Mine is from the Orientation Guide of Townsville, when he gets so fed up with Mojo Jojo he just leaves the set to go do his own thing. It's just so wonderful, hah, I love it.


	13. Touching Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug is still determined to learn about that collar and his patient. He's also determined to apologize to Black Hat. It goes a different way than they expected.

Flug went home that evening to do two things. The first was to nurse his wounds – again – as well as what remained of the tattered pride that had been torn to shreds by his inmate. The second was to finish writing the damn report he’d promised Inspector Daniels.

It was even harder when he had to admit he’d been assaulted yet again.

At the end of it, the psychiatrist took a moment to ponder over his thoughts and ultimately tacked on an extra paragraph before his signature.

_It recently came to my attention that Patient #513 is equipped with specialty restraining technology around his neck. I had at first assumed this device to be one that measures for elevated heart rate and inhibits the patient from moving in such cases, but after discussion with the patient’s personal security force, I have realized this may not be the case. As Patient #513’s primary psychiatrist, I would like to request the designed purpose of the restraining collar as well as how it does this. I also request that no information of this significance is withheld from me again. The patient’s containment and rehabilitation is our number one priority and I cannot be expected to fulfill that if I am not kept informed._

_Sincerely,_  
Dr. Flug Slys, M.D.  
Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane 

The email was done and sent, the trauma was over, and Flug was left sitting on an armchair in his humble living room, ice pack propped on his chest where Black Hat had rammed into him. The encounter certainly hadn’t helped the recovery of the other, finally-fading bruise across his side and back. He groaned into a pillow caught up in his arms and turned on the TV.

As he suspected, most news stations, national and global, were still covering details of the Interpol press conference and Black Hat’s capture. Right now there was a good mix of repeated statements and speculations, so the doctor spent some time flipping between channels in a state of amused trepidation. He stopped only when one showed signs of broadcasting more of Black Hat’s history and less of “does Area 51 exist and is that where they’ve taken this dangerous criminal?”

“So Juanita, what do we know so far about the enigma known as Black Hat?” The anchorman faced half towards the camera and half towards his costar, sweeping aside his fancy brown hair and giving his best imitation of interest.

“Well, Dallas, if I had only one word to describe him, it would probably be…nefarious.” Juanita tapped her notes with one razor-sharp fingernail and looked directly into the screen. “That’s right, nefarious. Truly the most despicable of all criminals.”

“Gonna have to agree with you there, Juanita,” Dallas caught a thick file thrown to him from somewhere off camera and began flipping through the pages. “Murder, forgery, robbery, double parking, the list goes on and on, folks!” He tossed the stack into the air at the exclamation and papers fluttered behind him like a tree’s Armageddon.

“Mm, and let’s not forget the most heinous crime of all, Dallas.” The newswoman purred, eyes icy and riveting. “If witness reports are to be believed, he’s been secretly building an empire of evil. One to rival the mafia, the drug cartels, even telemarketers as the source of absolute wickedness in this world.”

“Surely you jest!” Dallas performed his best impression of Edvard Munch’s The Scream.

“I never jest,” Juanita replied coolly, “but of course, most accounts have been secondhand. And even if the information holds true, we have nothing to fear. Surely Black Hat will remained imprisoned and out of the free society, as dear Inspector Daniels insists. Only an idiot would believe otherwise.”

“Hah, only an idiot would let such a catastrophe come to pass!” 

“Let’s hope that idiot considers their life choices then, Dallas.”

“Right you are, Juanita!” The two looked at their own watches simultaneously, and Dallas switched from nervous excitement to sunny smiles in an instant. “Well, it looks like we’re all out of time here, folks! Thanks for joining us! I’m Dallas Wanamaker!”

“And I’m Juanita Alvaro.”

“Be sure to stay tuned in to Mox News for more information! Follow our channel online for updates on all the most important events! Will Black Hat stay off the streets forever? Is there really a crime worse than double parking? Will I ever get that date next week? We’ll let you know!”

The TV was shut off with a click and Flug pressed his paper bag against his pillow, feeling worse than ever. Even the news castors were putting pressure on him now, oblivious as they were. All it would take was one screw up and he’d be short a reputation, a job, and possibly his life at this point.

Speaking of which, something really needed to change in regards to his inmate. Black Hat had threatened him, assaulted him, and manipulated personal information out of him, and less than a week had passed. The psychiatrist was tired of leaving that room drained and disheveled. 

His bruises protested movement, but Flug eventually managed to get a notebook and pencil back to his resting spot and began scribbling ideas. Soon there were bullet points for conversation starters, simple questions, heavier questions, and topics he was willing to bring up about himself in order to connect more with his patient. It had been a while since he’d needed to do something like this, but one could never be too prepared.

Satisfied, the doctor set the notepad on the little coffee table in front of him and snuggled into his chair, curled against his pillow similar to how 505 tended to do so. He knew this, of course, because he had taught the bear that method of comfort. 

The dreams were always memories, good and mostly bad, but now they held the presence of something else in the background. Something, someone, a certain someone who partook in no trauma brought forth by nightmares, but remained stoic and silent and smiling as they came and went without respite.

Black Hat was still just as terrifying in the dream realm as in real life, active participant or not, and Flug woke up sweating.

…

Floor 5 was particularly lively the next day. Other patients were receiving medication, therapy, and/or free time, and no one paid much attention to Flug as he slipped to the very end of the hallway. Dementia, for her part, screamed a greeting at her favorite doctor when he passed her room, and he took the time to give a confident wave back.

Both Lucas and Ben were stationed in front of Black Hat’s cell at this hour – a new requirement during any of the inmate’s scheduled counseling sessions. Despite Flug’s protests, they refused to let him go in alone and so the psychiatrist stepped through the door with Ben breathing heavily at his side.

Black Hat was crouched on the edge of his mattress. His eye was locked on his doctor, predatory and waiting for the first sign of weakness. Flug swallowed his fear and moved to the center of the room. His patient didn’t blink.

“Good, good morning.” No response was his answer. There wasn’t even a twitch of muscles. “I mean, I guess since it’s 11 am it’s not r-really morning anymore…um.”

His patient narrowed his visible eye but did nothing else. Flug kept his eyes trained on that face and didn’t dare look down towards his neck.

“I take it you’re s-still mad at me?”

Nothing.

“Listen I, I understand why you’d still b-be mad at me but I’m here f-for another two – two hours, god. I’m here for two hours and I’m p-perfectly willing to sit it out if I h-have to. I’ve done it before.”

Still nothing. A memory picked up in the psychiatrist’s mind, of the last time this criminal had perched in front of a mental health professional and how badly that had ended. He counted to fifteen in his head.

“Okay, okay then, if y-you don’t want to talk today then I’ll just.” Flug sat down in the middle of the floor, ignoring the worried intake of breath from the guard behind him. “Here. I’ll just h-hang out here then.”

Black Hat raised one eyebrow only a tad. They stared at each other. Twenty seconds passed. Flug crossed his legs to get more comfortable. Forty seconds. Ben’s breathing got a little heavier, a little more apprehensive. One minute.

Two minutes. The doctor’s nose itched and he rubbed his bag carefully, then pulled out the creases. Three minutes. 

Four minutes. Four and a half. Five –

“Stubborn.”

“Pardon?” Flug perked up in restrained animation.

“You are a very stubborn creature for a human.” Black Hat finally relented, face set in a frown less angry and more thoughtful now. “I’d find it remarkable if it wasn’t so irritating.”

“…Thank you.” He stretched his arms above his head but remained sitting. “So uh, what n-now?”

“That depends entirely on your behavior, Doctor.” The patient was still watching his psychiatrist like a hawk.

“Isn’t, isn’t that supposed t-to be my line?” Flug hadn’t intended it as a joke but he almost giggled when he said it. Black Hat’s mouth jerked sideways and there was a miniscule relaxing of his muscles. Flug almost didn’t catch it. 

“I would say no, not in this situation,” the inmate said, muted animosity still in his expression. He slid off the mattress to crouch on the floor. “Do you plan to remain on that dirty ground this entire session, Flug? It’s unbecoming of you, I must say.”

“Maybe – maybe,” the doctor admitted, not really sure either. “In any c-case, I didn’t come h-here just for the session. Ah. I know that s-sounds bad but, I just w-wanted to, apologize.” He grimaced and tried again. “I’m sorry. For, for pushing when I shouldn’t h-have. That was, unprofessional and – I had no reason to provoke you like. Like that.”

“Full of surprises indeed,” Black Hat mumbled to himself. He inched a little closer, still crouched. “And if I refuse the apology?”

“Then, then I don’t know. I’ll still t-try not to do anything l-like that again. Acceptance or, or not.” The psychiatrist leaned back when his patient dared another centimeter, but didn’t stand. “It’s not, I wasn’t r-really expecting y-you to forgive me th-that fast anyway.”

“You’d be correct.” The distance between them was lessening. “And what about this, Doctor? Aren’t you afraid I’ll attack you again? Getting so close, hmm?”

“I’m…a l-little worried. But I d-don’t think you’ll hurt me right, not right now.” Flug sucked in a gulp as there was less than a meter now between his knee and the criminal. “We’ve still g-got a while f-for the session. They’d j-just bring in some – someone else if I kept getting h-hurt. And I d-don’t think you want that?”

Black Hat’s lips glinted into a smirk. “Rather presumptuous of you, Flug. Assuming you’re so important that I wouldn’t risk something like that. Are you certain you aren’t mistaken?”

“Nnhh…I don’t – believe so, n-no.”

“And your little protection squad is looking very nervous right now. It appears as though they’re unsure in their ability to save you. How much faith do you keep in your comrades, Flug?” The patient’s gaze flickered up past the doctor to make contact with Ben.

“I have a-a lot of faith,” the psychiatrist replied firmly. He refused to look backwards, away from the prodding inmate, because this game was familiar. He wasn’t allowed to crack or let his attention falter, or the mistake could be fatal. “And even, even if it’s misplaced, I w-won’t just let it happen. I can fend f-for myself.”

The statement made the creature laugh, releasing more of his resentment into the air with it. “You can defend yourself, you say? How so? Oh, I have to hear this!”

As Black Hat said this he took one large crouched step until the two were less than an arm’s width apart. Flug felt familiar, hot putrid breath in his face and squared his shoulders up.

“I’ve s-survived this long, haven’t I? In this place. How is th-that so hard to believe?”

“And how long have you been working here, Doctor?” The patient prompted, looking for an easy gloat to pounce on and rip to shreds. 

“A while, thank y-you very much,” the psychiatrist responded, tugging at his bag at the closeness. “And, even b-before that, I h-haven’t exactly lived a safe life. Just s-so you know.”

“A safe life?” Black Hat snorted. “Please Flug, don’t take me for an imbecile. You’re pathetic and timid. Crushable. How can you honestly expect me to think otherwise? A little human like you, living a life of danger? That’s rich.”

Flug shrugged his shoulders offhandedly. “Well, believe what you w-want then. I told you the truth. It’s not, not my fault if it sounds f-farfetched.”

“Really now,” the inmate leaned in closer now, with another footstep. He could put his head in Flug’s lap now, if he wanted to. “You know Doctor, one of the things about you that is mildly interesting is your insistence on being honest. For some, odd reason, you rarely display deceit or trickery. I suppose that you’re right, and I have no basis to be skeptical from your previous actions. But I am also inquisitive by nature, and I need more than words. I need action, proof. Show me your proof.”

There was a smug, smug look on his face that said he had won already. He was so close it was making the doctor nervous, tripping up any façade of bravado that might have been displayed before. And the doctor couldn’t risk hinting at his own history here, with cameras and a guard and such a dangerous individual. 

But Flug also wasn’t one to step aside at a challenge. He’d survived through them for this long, and action was often the most effective way of persuasion. So he paused, considered his options, braced himself, and took the reach.

Literally. He put his left hand on Black Hat’s shoulder.

The inmate went stiff with surprise, and the doctor went stiff with realization of what he was doing, but neither party moved. They only sat staring at each other as Flug’s hand burned.

“Flug…” Black Hat uttered, tone unreadable. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m –” he swallowed and his fingers clenched a little against the straitjacket. “I’m giving you your proof. Here’s your proof.”

“This isn’t proof, Doctor. This is stupidity.” But the criminal didn’t pull away or become aggressive. All he did was look at the hand on his shoulder, head cocked and contemplative.

“Ah, well m-maybe. But, but something told me it isn’t. Stupidity.” Flug’s whole arm was trembling, not quite noticeable. “It’s, like y-you said. That you n-need action. This is my action.”

Black Hat didn’t respond. He was still staring at the point of contact, and although the psychiatrist couldn’t tell what emotions were passing through his face, he could tell that they were very strong, whatever they were. With a careful wince Flug took his hand off and slowly brought it back to his side. The movement spurred a strange little noise from his inmate. It sounded almost like a tiger chuff.

“So, uh…” He coughed once. “I kinda made things a – a little weird, but uh. We still have a w-ways to go before the session’s over, so. What do, you want to talk about?”

“Mm,” Black Hat was watching him again with a peculiar set to his mouth. He looked a little spaced-out. “Are you…familiar with the Faust Symphony?”

“Oh, by Franz Liszt?” There was a dazed affirming nod. “Yeah, that’s a great composition. You’re a classical fan?”

“…Yes.”

So they talked. The entire rest of the session, an inmate and his psychiatrist sat in the middle of a padded floor and discussed music theory, music composers, writers, singers and performers. They compared favorite classical pieces, bemoaned together about the lack of love for musical education in the modern age – “I swear, Flug, no one appreciates bloodying your fingers practicing instruments anymore” – and ended the conversation with Flug’s promise to bring a speaker and a playlist of some of Black Hat’s favorites for the next time.

As the doctor locked the door again, his patient sidled up to the window to watch him. 

“I must say, Doctor, this was…pleasant. I wasn’t expecting to share an intelligent discussion about the musical world, well, anywhere anymore. Certainly not in this wretched place.”

“It’s understandable,” Flug kept Black Hat in his peripheral as he worked the fingerprint scan. “There’s not much love for older stuff like that nowadays. Everyone forgets how powerful it all was.”

“You’re telling me.” The criminal mumbled. He blinked slowly when his doctor finished and they made real eye contact again. “Am I to assume we are continuing this next session, then?”

“If you want, I mean,” the psychiatrist shrugged contentedly. “It’s all up to you. It’s your time we’re spending. I’m just happy we could hold a civil conversation that long. Especially how close we were, I thought it’d be more distracting.”

“Distracting?” A leer started forming on Black Hat’s face. “Am I that that physically appealing, Doctor? I had no idea you felt that way.”

“OH no, not like – not like that, no!” The doctor scrambled for words. “I meant like, with our differences! The only time we were ever that close before was when you were on top of me – I mean! Oh god…”

“Maybe we shouldn’t stay on the topic of music next time, Flug. What we really ought to talk about are your repeated Freudian slips, don’t you think so? Do you make a habit of saying one each session, or am I the exception?”

“Schon wieder? Warum ich?” Flug’s face was cherry red through his bag but he didn’t hide his eyes. Not with Black Hat so close again, even with a door between them. He wasn’t making the same mistake twice.

“Also wechseln wir jetzt auf eine andere Sprache, Doktor? Das macht mir nichts aus.” The inmate switched just as effortlessly as Flug had, amusement clear in his eye.

“No, we’re n-not switching to German, nobody else speaks it here.” The doctor smacked a hand to the side of his bag, exasperated. “And we don’t need to g-get off topic. Can you p-please not do that?”

“Nun, das ist aber schade. Eigentlich gefällt mir diese Sprache sehr.”

“Are you going to speak German the entire time now?”

“Nein, nur wenn es dich ankotzt.”

“Well congrats, I’m pissed off!” Flug threw his hands up, eyes still trained on the patient in front of him. “I never thought h-hearing my own language would do that, but y-you managed it.”

“Of course I managed it, Flug. Don’t be ridiculous. I can do anything I set my mind to.” Black Hat looked so very pleased with himself. “I must say, this has been quite the fascinating experience. I look forward to our continued time together, innuendos or no.”

It was a way out and the doctor took it. “Y-Yeah, yeah, me too. This was, really nice.”

“Indeed. I suppose we can…advance in this way, so long as you don’t anger me again. Do try not to anger me again, Flug.”

“I, I won’t.” The psychiatrist held his hands up to keep the peace, and took a step back. “Well, I need to get going so…uh. Next time then?”

“Next time.” Black Hat agreed, watching as Flug smiled at him and walked down the hall. 

They were both left to their own thoughts then. The doctor was ecstatic, sneakers squeaking and mouth whistling Beethoven as he ran over how surprisingly successful the situation had gone. He was joyful beyond belief, and let the bubbling glee come up and spill into his brain like a crash of lightning.

Black Hat, meanwhile, returned to his perch on the edge of the mattress. He mulled over the same events, but pensiveness pinched his face into a troubled countenance.

His shoulder still felt warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The German phrases this chapter have been beta'd by the lovely RisingWarrior (give them lots of love please)! The lines are “Again, why me?”, “So, we’re switching to other languages now, Doctor? I don’t mind”, “Well, that’s too bad, I quite enjoy this language”, and “No, only when it pisses you off” respectively.
> 
> Annnnnnd they finally touch and it's not violent! Yay! Even if it's just a touch on the shoulder lol, I'll take anything. Also, the two news castors are a reference to something and if you got it then I'll love you forever.
> 
> 2 questions for the readers: first, what was the first couple you ever shipped, (canon or not it doesn't matter)? Mine was Jak/Keira from the Jak & Daxter series - but later it became more Jak/Daxter (lol no regrets).
> 
> Secondly, do you mind that I ask questions now? I think they're fun but if it's annoying then I'll stop. Let me know please! (Also please don't feel like you need to answer them, it's for fun, not pressure). Thanks for reading, have a good day!


	14. Unprofessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug shouldn't have to defend his actions to those assigned to watch his back. He shouldn't have to defend them to himself either. Guess what happens anyway.

Walking back to Flug’s office felt like some kind of triumphant return to the doctor. He loved this feeling, these moments of truly connecting with a patient after so much careful pushing and tiptoeing around. Who cared that it had been a little…unconventional this time. Given his charge, the circumstances could really be forgiven.

Beside the psychiatrist were both Lucas and Ben, who had offered to join him on the trip back. They didn’t seem quite as chipper as he was for some reason. In fact, Lucas looked extremely fidgety while Ben stared straight ahead. Their mouths were forming near-identical straight lines.

“So…” Lucas started, sticking his thumbs in his front pockets. “What, was that back there? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Flug faltered in his steps and tilted his head at them in clear confusion. Ben’s lips disappeared into his silent blankness. 

“What do you mean, ‘what was that’? I managed to break the ice with my patient for the first time in a week. Wasn’t that obvious?”

“I dunno, kinda? It just looked a little – what’s the word? Ben, help me out here, what’s the word I’m thinking of?”

“…Unprofessional.”

Lucas scuffed at the linoleum flooring. “Well no, that’s not really the word I was looking for at all, it’s more like –”

“It was unprofessional.” Ben clenched his jaw to keep his tone steady. “I thought the doctors aren’t supposed to touch inmates without due reason.”

This time the doctor did actually stop walking. 

“I’m sorry, what?” He looked between the uncomfortable guards, baffled. “I had due cause there. Black Hat n-needed me to show him I was willing to take risks, and that was really the best way to do it without, without someone getting hurt.”

“Sure, I guess.” Lucas shrugged and kept his hands in his pockets. “It’s just – I’ve worked here for a few years now and I’ve never seen anyone willing to touch an inmate unless they had to. Like, absolutely had to. Most doctors don’t seem to care enough. They leave it to us.”

“I, I think you mentioned something like that before, about security and, and the psychiatrists here,” Flug played with his lab coat. “But I don’t understand why this is s-such an issue? I’ve never – no one’s ever told me they h-had a problem before. I do stuff like this all the time, I’m not, afraid to get close to patients.”

“Well you’re one in a million, Doc.” Lucas started down the hall again at a slower pace. “Then again, I’ve never really understood people like you, with the mind stuff and that psycholo-what’s-it.”

The other two followed at a leisurely pace as well, and the psychiatrist found that Ben was matching his stride almost symmetrically. 

“It’s not all that hard t-to understand us, really,” Flug insisted. “We’re people too. Everyone’s human…er. Mostly. You know what I mean.”

“Hah, sure do, man, sure do.” Lucas made a 180 turn and headed back around the corner they came with a more comfortable smile on his face. The moment he was out of sight Ben tapped at the doctor’s shoulder. They both stopped.

“What is it?”

“Doctor, please, I need to ask you something.” The guard looked serious – well, more serious than he usually did. “Back there, I was in there with you, you know.”

“…Okay? And?”

“I just – I saw his face too. Black Hat’s face. I’ve never seen that kind of look on him before. What did you do to him?”

“I’m not sure I’m…following you.” Flug frowned up at the man.

“How did, how did you get him so relaxed like that? This entire week he’s been either sullen and angry or sullen and, in that trance thing he does, you know what I’m talking about. We’ve tried a few times to…talk to him, or something, but I thought…”

Ben trailed off then and stared a little more closely at the concerned doctor. 

“Before now, the only time I saw Black Hat not be in control was with that thing around his neck. But what happened back there, I’ve never seen anything like that. At all, ever. How on earth did you do it?”

“I really, didn’t do anything that I haven’t already tried.” The psychiatrist touched at the rim of his bag. “I just treat my patients like real people. Cause that’s what they are. It’s like I told Lucas just now, I – aren’t we all the same, really? Same c-capacity for good or evil, so why act better than anyone else? How does that help anyone here? Anyone anywhere?”

The guard was looking at him cautiously, unreadable. “Even in a place like this? Working with the worst the world literally has to offer?”

“I’m not e-exactly a patron saint,” Flug pinched the space where his nose would be, just under the goggles. “ If, if people want to be shitty, fine. They might get consequences for it, whatever. But this place is for recovering after those consequences. I’m not gonna remind them why they’re here when it isn’t necessary. They’re usually pretty, pretty aware of that fact.”

He made a gloved fist and hesitantly bumped it against Ben’s arm. “I’m a little…weird, sometimes. And unorthodox. So sorry if I made you guys uncomfortable. But it’s my job to get through to my patients and, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get them healthy again. To get them out of here.”

“Whatever it takes, huh.” Ben echoed quietly, a sliver of newfound respect in his eyes. He shook his head. “Jeez Dr. Slys, you really know how to make a person believe in you. Talking like that, how all the worst people deserve kindness. Better be careful with that, that’s a lot of power you’re wielding.”

Then Ben turned around to head back to his post, and Flug was left standing with a sudden, growing epiphany. He rushed the rest of the way to his office and unlocked the door quickly, taking care to slow down enough to do his usual routine properly. With that out of the way the doctor nearly dove for his desk and grabbed the first unused sticky note he could find. He dug a pin out of his coat pocket and scribbled down ‘EPPA speech, talk abt worst people need kindness (?)’ and stuck the note on the top left corner of his computer monitor. 

Just under three weeks until the conference and this was the first concrete thing he had come up with for his speech. It was sad, but not so sad that he dwelled on it. Instead he capped the pen and checked his email. There were two new ones. 

The first was from Dr. Rorschach, sent sometime during Black Hat’s therapy session. It was mostly just reminder stuff; don’t forget to write that report for Interpol, don’t forget to bring that intern on to Dementia’s case stuff, don’t forget to work things out with Bautista – 

Flug grimaced. His coworker must not have mentioned to anyone about his little ‘slip up’ a few days ago, if the director still thought they could just patch things up so easily. One could get written up for making remarks like that. He filed away the information while simultaneously considering the best way to get back at the insensitive prick. Not anything drastic, of course. Maybe something subtle, something to make him stew and squirm and realize exactly who he had messed with. It was a dark, vengeful thought, and not one the doctor had really felt in a long time.

Maybe Flug shouldn’t have touched Black Hat after all. Who knew what had rubbed off on him.

Brushing aside the silly notion, the psychiatrist looked at the other message. It was from Inspector Daniels, arrived not ten minutes ago, and he clicked on it eagerly. The first few paragraphs were obligatory comments about the report itself, but at the very end – there!

_We at Interpol recognize your frustration and apologize for the lack of information and communication regarding certain restraining technology used to detain Inmate #513. It will not happen again, and we are willing to make an appointment for a Facetiming session with our Inspector in which full details will be disclosed. However, we have several conditions before doing so. First, we ask that only the head director of the institute and the inmate’s primary psychiatrist be made aware of the purpose and design of this technology, and that no others are informed unless undoubtedly approved by Interpol. Second, we ask that the session be conducted using a device and connection considered safe and private according to Interpol regulations, as will be attached at the end of this message. Third, under no circumstances will Inmate #513, alias Black Hat, be allowed to learn any of what will be relayed during this session. If any of these terms are violated, Interpol will rearrange to have the inmate detained elsewhere, and no liability will be accredited to Interpol in the event of assault, injury, death, or breakout by inmate in relation to this information._

Flug blinked rapidly as he read the message, eyes flicking up constantly to the top of the heavy paragraph. This was serious. This was national – no, it was international security-level serious. He forwarded the email to Dr. Rorschach and laced his fingers together. He still wanted that information, needed the schematics and the details because it would help him and his patient – and because not knowing would drive him up the wall.

He had already steeled himself for the fallout and blame he’d be put under if the worst was to happen, back when he first saw that Interpol press conference. The implications of this new knowledge would be just another pancake on the proverbial plate. Or maybe the whipped cream on top to finish it, no one could actually say.

Wasn’t making him feel any better, but since when had he ever managed to make himself to feel better?

Well, besides how he treated his patients, that didn’t count.

The thought caused Flug to blink, mulling over the bizarre exchange he’d shared with Black Hat’s personal security. He really hadn’t thought his actions were unprofessional at all. Certainly not to the point of making such a big deal about it. He had touched a criminal – an inmate – on the shoulder. It wasn’t like he had pried open Black Hat’s jaws and shoved meds down his throat.

That mental image led to the doctor’s growing amazement at his patient’s biology. He very truly wasn’t human, but to consider things like shapeshifting and teleporting and whatever the hell else was almost beyond the realm of reach. 

Flug looked at his left hand and flexed it. Black Hat hadn’t felt particularly unnatural under the straitjacket. Maybe a little bonier than should be healthy, but the psychiatrist wasn’t someone who could judge him for that. The inmate was also colder than expected, felt even through the glove and the layered outfit. Again, not noticeable to the point of alarm, but definitely not at average human body temperature either.

He tapped the palm of his hand with the fingers from his other one, wondering what other features might have been different. What did he use to hear? Or to smell? What was under his hat? Did his hands and feet look humanoid or were they shaped completely differently? 

Was his bare skin as smooth as it looked?

The pondering came screeching to a halt with the last question, and Flug jolted back to himself. He dropped his hands quickly and rubbed them against the chair arms, expression furrowed and slightly disturbed. To distract himself, the psychiatrist ran over his bag for creases, falling into the habit with practiced ease. 

A question like that was totally normal, totally fine. Hell, he remembered being really excited to touch 505’s fur for the very first time as well. It was simply a common result of human curiosity in the face of something not quite so human. Not bizarre at all. Not…unprofessional at all.

Flug kept himself busy the rest of the day, and didn’t look down at his hands again. But the inquiry still drifted somewhere beyond his attention.

And the glee never left at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I promised one thing and you got Friday evening instead because this week knocked me down and kept kicking. Also the chapter is shorter than usual so I apologize. Next chapter comes out on Monday as normal again, promise.
> 
> In all honesty though, I really am sorry for going AWOL, this has just been a week and then some. You guys don't realize how much I really sympathize with Flug sometimes.
> 
> Question for everybody: What book or piece of literature (nonfiction, fiction, fanworks, whatever) was the first to change the way you seriously thought about something? I remember reading Flowers for Algernon in middle school and it absolutely blew my mind. I think it was one of the first books that legitimately made me blubber like a baby. If you can't think of one, give me some recommendations! I love reading :)


	15. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 505 is the unfortunate witness to Black Hat's first identity crisis. Not a pretty sight.

The Dark One’s smell was spreading.

505 pawed at the edge of his bed, afraid to leave its comfort but also afraid because he couldn’t see the Dark One from his place on the bed. His doctor best friend had just left with the happiness surrounding him, but the bear couldn’t understand how that was possible in the presence of the Dark One. 

It sucked the life from everything and left only terror. It was ruthless, and evil, and cold. Just like – just like…

He whimpered and then whimpered again when the sound alerted the Dark One to his presence. There was a shift of anger, like a water hose left to pool treacherously on the ground that’s suddenly picked up and directed. Directed right at him.

“You. Bear.”

505 pawed again, more anxiously as he heard the Dark One come closer, _step step step._ It stopped where it always did, at that window across the hall, but it was still too close and the bear trembled and stuck his snout into a large teddy bear. Maybe he could ignore it. Maybe the Dark One would get bored and leave him alone.

“Bear. I’m talking to you.” 

Those words came with more force, the promise of pain, and 505 haltingly made a questioning grunt just loud enough for the other to hear.

“Good, I have your attention. If I was as pathetic as a human, I would have thought you had died in there. Or that you were ignoring me. But we both know you wouldn’t do something that foolish, now don’t we?”

The shaking bear just repeated his question, face still pushed into stuffed animal.

“Why yes, I do want to talk to you. Believe it or not, you are less annoying, by a fraction, than my idiot security force. And by that I mean you won’t interrupt me with asinine things while I speak. So do be quiet and listen.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He kept still and silent and would have made a statue proud, if he’d known what that was.

“I seem to be at a bit of a dilemma today. You see, I was planning originally to have my regular session with dear Dr. Flug, worm out his personal secrets as if I were pulling teeth from him instead, and then pull more secrets from you like plump ticks afterwards. And somehow that’s not what happened. Do you follow me, bear?”

505 understood it, a little bit, but he wasn’t about to make noise and risk more of the Dark One’s scariness. He stayed quiet and that seemed okay enough for his neighbor, who sighed dramatically and continued.

“It’s almost something I shouldn’t be surprised about anymore, really. This irritating human has already managed to pull the wool over my eyes,” it made a hissing sound and the bear quivered. “And I have continued to let him do so. Even worse, one could say that our meeting today was...pleasant. Relaxing. Like this really is some bloody shrink’s office and I’m here voluntarily, for some personal growth and learning. Or to fix whatever plague of problems are constantly blocking humanity’s mental functions. Who do they think I am, that I would willingly submit myself to this, sharing of weakness?”

One blue paw twitched in animal instinct when the darkness grew and flowed into the hallway like misty, invisible tar. 

“Have I not made it clear how much of a threat I am? How much I must be taken seriously? And when I assert that, he – he _touches_ me as if it’s the easiest thing in existence! ‘Oh Black Hat, I know you’re threatening me, so let me put my twiggy fingers on your shoulder and look you dead in the eye.’ Well Flug, why don’t you just sip a cup of coffee and read the morning paper while you’re at it?!”

The Dark One was getting so upset that the lights actually flickered back on for a second, even though they hadn’t been working since before he’d come here.

“And I tolerated it! I didn’t systematically remove the offending limb from its body, I sat there as dumbfounded as an infant! ‘Struck speechless’ indeed, I never thought I’d see the day. What in Bermuda’s name compelled me to just....gape at that hand and let it leave unharmed?! It’s not natural! Coming from me even, that’s not natural at all!”

It let out another frustrated hiss and 505 flinched as the walls vibrated from the force of the Dark One’s kick to its door.

“It wasn’t just us either, oh no, that would be too kind of a fate. We just needed a lovely audience of two for such a humiliating spectacle, and who better than those idiot men who ‘guard’ me? Thank Cthulhu it was the corrupt one sitting in the cell with us! I don’t know how I could live with myself if it was the bumbling bubbly other fool. What was Flug thinking?!”

The nervous bear lifted his head off the cushion when the Dark One’s slithery voice cracked on the last question. There was no more immediate ranting, so he turned to face the door slowly, still very aware of the horrible energy swirling viciously around everything. 

“…Roo?” _…Why matter what he was thinking?_

“That’s none of your business, bear,” the Dark One snarled. It promptly went back to muttering to itself. “All that matters now is how much this will affect my reputation. Flug left with his little entourage like bloody Dorothy down the yellow brick road, whistling all the way. I have half a mind to follow them right now, show them what this Wicked Witch of the West really is. Certainly not someone to be trifled with!”

505 held his paws close to his neck, ears pinned completely back as every hair stood on end. He scooted a little closer to the door when the other inmate fell silent, and quickly froze up as he made it to the window and locked a regrettable gaze with the Dark One.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I haven’t done so, hmm?” It leaned its cheek against the bars, and one long fang scraped slowly back and forth along the metal. “Why I haven’t disemboweled the guards and staked my claim over every criminal here.”

The bear didn’t answer.

“Well I’d say that’s also none of your business either. Not anyone’s damn business, but since when has that stopped the disease called humanity? They just waltz everywhere, into every nook and cranny they find like cockroaches, pretending this discovery is theirs or that deviation is something unfounded. As the new generations say it, News Flash, humans! I’ve already done it! Discovered it, dismantled it, turned it into a tool of evil, etc. Does Flug think he can tame me? Think that with some honeyed words and – and gentle touches he’ll have done what no other man has done? Poppycock!”

The Dark One went back into tense silence and 505 eyed it nervously. The gloomy shroud was starting to recede back to its master, but that didn’t mean it was a good sign.

“Bear?” Their eyes met again, joltingly. “You…mentioned that our doctor is broken. Were you referring to his Dusk or to something else?”

“Brruh,” he answered honestly, too smart to lie. “Orwrar berr.”

_Not his darkness. He got hurt bad, doesn’t trust now._

“Trust. Such a peculiar word, so many connotations. Did he happen to tell you what kind of trust was broken? Or perhaps the…nature of his damage?”

“Ro.” _No._

“Of course not,” the Dark One sounded irritated for only a moment. “But I suppose that’s to be expected from a secretive creature like him. I wonder, bear, if there’s any way we might earn that trust back. The poor thing’s obviously suicidal on some level, dancing around my patience as he’s been doing. Perhaps this latest encounter…isn’t something to be cursed after all.”

Something sly and deliciously happy wriggled up into the curve of the Dark One’s mouth, staining its words with ugly promise, and 505 shuddered as he faced it alone. 

“Mm, it’s wonderful to know you still fear me at least. I do believe we can use that.” It gave the bear a familiar, predatory leer. “You two are so close and grossly chummy, it won’t be very difficult to extract what I want from that. Not difficult at all.”

He shouldn’t have gotten curious, but it was his nature, and 505 was already too deep in this mess to let himself be misused so ignorantly. Not again, not ever again. He clenched his jaw and asked the question.

“Mewoo?” _What do you want?_

“Oh bear,” the Dark One cooed and scraped three sharp teeth against the barred window, “when will it reach that puny little brain of yours? It really is quite none of your business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, I'm so sorry. Life has been beating me senseless and leaving me in a ditch to drown, and it didn't help that Black Hat was such a demanding diva for this chapter. I know it's short, but something's better than nothing, right? Ehehe...
> 
> Things will pick up again soon, promise. Also once again, I will never abandon this fic no matter what, so don't you worry. If the next chapter isn't up by Monday then you all have full permission to swarm me in simultaneous, synchronized slander. Don't hold back. Berate me. Rain words of death upon this author.
> 
> (Question time: what was the first thing you ever looked up fan stuff for? Fanfics, fanworks, theories, anything! My first fanwork experience was for Sly Cooper and Sonic the Hedgehog - don't judge, everyone has a phase lol)


	16. The Best Laid Plans, Version 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug struggles with the fact that some people are scumbags and generally untouchable. And then he doesn't.

That night, Flug went home early and spent a good half hour writing emails back and forth between his boss and the Inspector, trying to figure out a good date and time for their collaboration. The meeting was eventually set for that Thursday at 15:00, by the Institute’s time zone. It was going to be the best chance they had to get such important information, and Flug began writing down prospective questions and follow-ups.

The psychiatrist was startled out of his brainstorming by another email notification, however, and he cocked his head bemusedly when he didn’t recognize the address. It was a company-sanctioned one, so he went ahead and opened the message.

_Dr. Slys,_

_This is Nurse Susie Hase, we’ve met a few times at work. I know this is very short notice, but I was hoping to talk to you tomorrow if that’s possible, maybe at the break room? Please let me know if or when we can talk._

_Susie_

She was the nurse he saw most often when filling prescriptions; the one he had run into the day of – well, that day. Flug frowned at the rather out-of-left-field email and pulled up a reply. Something quiet moved in his stomach as he responded with a ‘yes that’s fine, but it’d have to be very early tomorrow. Maybe 8 am?’

His computer dinged again almost immediately, and Flug chewed at his lip as he read the hasty affirmation and the promise of it being a short get together. He didn’t have any problem with Susie, really, but they’d rarely interacted beyond professional courtesy and the nagging in his gut wouldn’t go away. And after the almost accusatory questions from Ben and Lucas the day before, the doctor was feeling more than a little suspicious. 

He let the suspicion stew a bit instead of dismissing it; paranoia had helped him survive this long and he wasn’t going to discount it with the bizarre, sick feeling tucked away in the corner.

...

The Institute didn’t really have a break room, but more of a mingling space. It was at the very end of the Floor 1 hallway, past all the staff offices, where the building stopped in a square-shaped dead end with a large barred window overlooking the parking lot. Someone had put a fake potted plant in one corner and it suddenly became the place to go when one wanted to unofficially hang out with a coworker. 

Flug had never had much of a reason to come here, simply because he was strictly on professional terms with most of the other psychiatrists. But the nagging feeling still wouldn’t leave until he had passed his office door and ambled around the corner. He spotted Susie standing quietly at the window, sipping from a porcelain mug, and she turned around at the sound of his approach.

“Hello Dr. Slys,” the nurse offered tentatively. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Um, yeah.” The doctor fidgeted in response and rubbed the back of his bag. “I know it’s really early, but I d-didn’t want to impede on, either of our schedules and I wasn’t sure what you...wanted to talk about.  
What did you want to talk about?”

Susie wrapped her hands more snugly around her steaming drink. She looked a little embarrassed. “I just, wanted to ask you how you’ve been.”

He stared at her. “Uh, sorry?”

“I know that’s, that’s a personal question!” She huddled closer to the fake fern. “Or at least, it’s a little out of ordinary to ask you that, so I don’t know if it’s a personal question? I just...thought I needed to ask you.”

“Uh…” Flug was strangely incoherent today, and it wasn’t even 8 am yet. “It’s not...I don’t mind. I’ve been...” Stressed. Emotional. Overanalyzing. “...the usual. No big deal.”

“Oh.” Susie blinked. “Well I ah, hope the usual isn’t too bad?”

“No, it’s not. Actually, I’d say things have been better, lately.” He thought of yesterday, of music and Black Hat and staying professional. The ends of his mouth quirked unseen.

“That’s good, I’m happy to hear it.” The nurse looked down at her mug. “I know this is kinda out of the blue, asking to hang out like this, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay. So I understand if you, wanted to leave now.”

“Um.” He really needed to stop starting his sentences like that. “I really don’t mind, but uh…why would you – what’s the reason for the worry?”

Susie grimaced and her eyes flitted up to his widened goggles. “I’ve just been…well you remember how we bumped into each other in the lobby the other day? You looked really stressed out that day and I just…haven’t been able to stop thinking about that. I – I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“Well that’s…really kind of you.” Kinder than _some_ coworkers who would not be named. “I’ve been fine, really. Me being stressed is just a-another part of me, at this point.”

“You don’t have to explain that to me, Doctor.” Her lips curled into a sad smile for a moment. “But are you – I mean do you need anything? I know you tend to skip lunch sometimes, but my partner always packs more than enough for me everyday so if you wanted something…”

She was looking him up and down, very cautiously, and Flug realized she might be thinking some not so nice things about his skinny form. He opened his mouth to cut off that train of thought and – 

“Hey!”

Both doctor and nurse flinched at the sound of Bautista’s voice behind them. They turned almost simultaneously to see him standing in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed and a cool expression on his face. His eyes wandered briefly to Susie in observation before settling back on the doctor.

“Dr. Slys, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” The man dropped his arms and moved forward heavily to join them. Flug tensed up and felt Susie shift uneasily behind him.

“What do y-you want?” He forced his shoulders down from his neck and put his hands on his hips. “If this is about Black Hat’s case again, then –”

“Nah, not about that,” Bautista waved one hand dismissively. He stepped close and towered above both of them. “I wanted to ask you about that one day, but I haven’t seen you at all. Have you been avoiding me?”

“Um, maybe, maybe I should go…” Susie said quietly from her place at the fern. She stepped around Flug’s right side only to stop short when Bautista moved left to block her. The only way she could leave was to shimmy between the wall and his side, and the nurse took a stiff step backwards as she realized this. There was a pinched look on her face that suggested discomfort and something vaguely alarmed.

“H-Hey, hang on a minute,” Flug stared up at his imposing coworker. “You can’t just – please let her through.” 

“It’s Susan, right?” The man ignored him, staring at the nervous woman. “Listen, I wanted to sort some things out with this guy here, so you wouldn’t mind staying as a third party, right? Like a neutral witness? Thanks.”

He turned back towards the psychiatrist and folded his arms again. 

“So I’ve been thinking about what happened, all the shit that was said. It was the heat of the moment, you know. Nothing really worth getting upset about. You understand, right?”

“You’re not – what?” Flug was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this man wasn’t letting someone leave. “This is…really a – a conversation that we should have in p-private, Doctor.”

“It’s private enough, Slys.” Bautista waved his hand again. “I just wanted to know where things stood, yeah? There was an argument, and you said some things, and I said some things, and it was unfortunate. But we can move on, I’m willing to move on if you are, so. All’s well that ends well.”

“Please let me through,” Susie whispered. Her arms were clutched around her waist, pulling at her uniform. “I need to be somewhere, please let me through.”

Bautista barely gave her a side glance. He stared at Flug, waiting for his response.

“Ah, ah, you weren’t…very cordial that day.” He stuttered, attention torn between the towering coworker in front of him and the cowering coworker beside him. “You – what you said could have been – it was extremely hurtful, it w-wasn’t all well at all!”

The man’s face contorted into something darker. “You seemed fine to me, you just stood there like nothing. It wasn’t that big a deal.” He poked a finger at the doctor’s chest. “If it was so bad you should have said so. I just wanted to make sure we’re cool.”

“We’re not cool,” Flug couldn’t help but hiss. “I r-really wish you’d leave me alone. Can you leave us alone? And let her g-get through?” He gestured to the withdrawn nurse.

“Fine, fine! Lauren wanted us to get along, I figured this was us getting along!” The bigger man nearly threw up his hands, exasperated. “But I guess since you don’t give a shit about that, we’ll just stay weird and hostile. Happy?”

“Just – just please. Go away.” The psychiatrist replied through gritted teeth. “You’re making both of us uncomfortable.”

Dr. Bautista snorted. “Uncomfortable, right. Like we’re on a damn playground.” He gave Flug an irritated look and passed over Susie completely, turning on his heel and sauntering back the other way. The doctor felt the bravado leave his chest in a puff.

“Oh thank god,” the nurse breathed. It was so quiet she probably hadn’t meant for him to hear. Flug looked her way and stiffened again at the way her body shook. Distress scarred her face.

“I’m really, really sorry about that.” He spoke quietly, mindful of her anxiety. “I wasn’t e-expecting to run into him, I didn’t mean for him to – to corner you like that.”

She glanced at him and didn’t respond. Instead she started rubbing her arms through her lab coat like she was cold.

“Are you o-okay?” He hovered without pressing in on her personal bubble. “Do you, do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine Doctor,” Susie murmured quietly. Her eyes trembled. “I just – I need to go now. I’m glad you’re doing well. Sorry for wasting your time.”

With that the nurse hurried off down the hall, leaving Flug alone with the fake plant. He pursed his lips as he watched her rigid back take a sharp right and disappear from sight.

This was becoming a problem. An accidental trigger was one thing, no matter the subject matter, but now Bautista had actively bullied two coworkers into a literal corner. Stressful for anyone, but what Susie had looked like before she left…

Flug shoved his hands in his pockets angrily and began walking back to his office. He had an appointment with Martin and Dementia in an hour – he wasn’t going to be late for that – but all he could think about was the disturbingly familiar way his coworker had trembled, the way she hugged herself as if to ward things away.

The worst part was, Bautista hadn’t technically done anything. He hadn’t physically touched them, hadn’t gotten visibly upset and had used words that weren’t obviously inflammatory. He even had the excuse that he was trying to mend things, because he had said as much to both of them. Bringing it to Dr. Rorschach’s attention would probably be futile, and Flug wasn’t willing to drag Susie into it if the third witness’ testimony was demanded. 

The more he thought about it, the more the doctor was upset about it, and when Martin showed up in a fairly chipper mood, he wasted no time in grabbing the oblivious intern’s coat sleeve and tugging him towards the elevator in a vex-driven haste.

Dementia was waiting for them with one eye smushed between two bars like it was a peephole.

“Hey guys! Happy new week! Even though it’s Tuesday and not Sunday. Why does the new week start on Sunday anyway? Why not Monday? That’s when school starts, and work starts, and aren’t there like, religions or something about Sunday being the last day of the week? Hey Martin Maje, what do you think?”

“Uhhh…” Martin looked a little dazedly between the overexcited patient and the over-irritated doctor. “I don’t know, I um, I’m not religious.”

“Me neither! We finally have something in common, yay! Can you believe it, Flug?” The girl backed away as her psychiatrist opened the door and stepped inside without comment. “Hey, don’t ignore me, I asked you a question.”

“…You both already had something in common.” Flug closed the door behind the intern and locked it.

“Really? What’s that?”

“You’re both younger than twenty five.” 

“…Huh. I guess you’re right. Hey Intern, how old are you?” Dementia got nearly nose to nose with the startled guy. 

“Does it matter? I don’t, really feel comfortable telling you my age.”

“Pfft, coward. I’m diecinueve!” She giggled as Martin looked at her blankly. “I’m nineteen, numb nuts!”

“Really? I thought you were younger.”

“Nah, that’s just the straitjacket hiding my girlish figure. I’m a tried and true adult – or I guess I’m a tried and convicted adult, heh!” The inmate bounced over to Flug, who remained silent and unreadable from behind his mask. “What’s your problem today?”

“I don’t have a problem.” He took a step back.

“Yes you do, you’re all weird and distant. Your glasses are doing that thing again.” She followed his step with her own step.

“My glasses don’t ‘do that thing’, they can’t do anything, they’re goggles, Dementia.” He stepped to his left, towards Martin who blinked owlishly at the scene.

“Yes they do! They do that thing where the light reflects too much and I can’t see your eyes at all! It’s super creepy and weird and cool.” She shimmied into a sidestep to mirror him.

“That has nothing to do with my mood, that’s just what happens with light sometimes! How would I even control something like that?” He maneuvered around the intern so the poor kid was in between them.

“I don’t know, I’m not a weird science nerd like you, but I’ve only seen it when you’re in a bad mood.” She made the same action again. “Which has been like, a lot but it’s mostly when you’re angry or really, _really_ angry.”

“I think you mean furious.” He rounded around Martin again. She followed him. “I’m not furious right now anyway.”

Soon they were walking circles around a confused, frozen intern; the doctor going backwards and his patient going forwards.

“Then what are you? Frustrated?”

“No, stop following me.”

“Are yooou…flustered?”

“Dementia, I’m warning you!”

“Are you – what’s the word? Flabgobbled?”

“The word is flabbergasted, Dementia, and yes I’m pretty flabbergasted that you’re making us do this ring-around-the-rosy thing!”

“I’m not making you do anything, Flugmeister, I’m just making you uncomfortable.”

“Well stop it!”

“Not until you tell me what’s got your panties all tied up!”

“Dementia!”

“NO!”

“Uh, not to interrupt but,” Martin said awkwardly, “could you guys maybe not do this around me? I’m getting dizzy.”

Dementia pushed into him lightly with her shoulder, making him stumble. “Only if you help me figure out why Flug’s acting so weird.”

“I’m not – gah!” The fed-up psychiatrist threw his hands in the air and sat down where he was. “Fine! Fine, you win, I stopped first, I lost. Are you happy?”

“Oh yeah, totally.” The patient bumped against the intern to make him sit, then joined them both. “But you still haven’t answered me. Why so mopey?” 

Flug pressed his palm against his goggles. “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die!”

“And will you promise to cooperate with our session today?”

“Cross my heart and hope to lie!”

Martin burst out with a laugh and Dementia giggled along with him. The doctor kept rubbing at his headwear.

“Okay, sure, why not. I’ve got a coworker who’s been giving me trouble, and this morning he was kinda harassing me and someone else. Alright?”

“Well why are you all brooding? Just go punch the guy and live your life.” She tried to make a threatening move towards the intern, but it wasn’t very successful with her outfit. He flinched anyway.

“It’s not that simple, Dementia. There are rules and regulations, and you could get in serious trouble for assaulting another staff member. Verbally or physically, it doesn’t matter. I’m not risking my job for that.”

“Are you…talking about Dr. Bautista?” Martin asked, chewing his lip. “Has he been messing with you?”

Flug regarded him suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” The teen picked at a loose thread on his jeans.

“Ooh, has he been harassing you too?” The girl leaned in close. “This guy has been going after both of you? Now you two have something in common, how awesome is that?”

“Is that true, Martin?” The psychiatrist watched the intern fidget. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered quickly, “he wasn’t really doing anything mean. Just…saying stuff sometimes, when we run into each other.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, Doctor, you don’t have to –”

“Like _what_ , Martin.”

The kid flinched. “Ah, just, these last few days, you know, he’s been saying it’s good I got moved to be with you and her. He said I…would fit in well. That you guys could dress me up like – yeah. Just, not nice things.”

Flug didn’t realize he was gripping his clothes until he tried to pull on his bag and his fingers got stuck in his lab coat. If he had been angry before, he was livid now. On his left, Dementia’s eyes narrowed into reptile slits.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it.” The doctor announced. He looked up at the room camera, grateful for the millionth time that this one didn’t have audio recording.

“Who’s fucking it?” Dementia asked, confused but still predatory. 

“No, I mean I’m done with this. I can’t talk to my boss about Bautista without getting innocents involved. You,” he looked at Martin, “you probably can’t even talk to anyone. I’m sick of this. I’m so, so sick of not being able to do anything.”

“Are we planning something wicked?” His inmate whispered, expression glittering. “Are we gonna take him out, stealth mode style?”

“We’re not going to take him out, Dementia.” Flug tapped one finger to his hidden lips. “But there are other ways to do things. Ways to be sneaky, no way to incriminate yourself, no way to prove anything.”

He looked at Dementia, who jittered in hungry excitement at the mere idea of chaos. He looked at Martin, who seemed slightly concerned but also very, very thrilled. Flug could practically feel his own mouth tilt into a perfect imitation of one of Black Hat’s grins.

“How much do you guys know about pranks?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm hm hm, Black Hat's not the only one who is a schemer. Wonder what Flug is gonna plan with his co-conspirators? Only time will tell!
> 
> Next chapter will probably be fairly late guys, but it won't be as bad as the last one. Anyway, next question: have you ever been pranked, and if so, was it successful? (You don't have to say what happened). I once had someone spray my pillow with this liquid lavender perfume. It was so saturated with the stuff that the pillow was STILL WET when I actually went to bed 3 hours later. Needless to say, I hate lavender now.


	17. Pranks and Ponderings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our pranksters-in-planning begin their brainstorming, and Dementia is still determined to find the badness in her psychiatrist.

As was to be expected, Dementia took the initiative.

“How about we burn his house down?”

“No. That’s a crime.”

“Okayyy well, how about we key up his car?”

“Do you have any ideas that don’t resort to vandalism and outright arrest?”

“Yeah but they’re not as fun so I don’t know why you wanna hear them.”

“...So, Martin, do you have any suggestions?”

“Well,” the intern rocked back a little bit in his seat on the floor, ignoring Dementia’s pouting. “If you’re – we, if we’re really gonna do this, it’s gotta be really discreet, right? But this, we’re in a prison institute, how are we gonna do anything without getting caught?”

Flug tapped the padded ground with a gloved finger. “That’s a good question, but we’ll get to that once we actually have something in mind. I can’t really make an escape route if I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Sure you can, just crash through everything like a bus! You get to make a giant mess and you’ve made your escape route nice and big. And if anyone tries to get in your way you just run over them in reverse! Errrrch!” She shrilly imitated a swerving vehicle and the other two winced.

“I thought we agreed on no criminal activity, Dementia.” The psychiatrist rubbed one side of his bag.

“I didn’t agree to anything, Flugso!” His patient used her legs to spin around in an uneven circle. “And you guys are thinking too hard! We gotta figure something out soon, my session doesn’t last all day.”

“Sure feels like it sometimes…” Martin muttered under his breath. Dementia gave him a dirty look.

“That better have been good-natured, Intern Boy, otherwise we’d have a problem. Actually, we already have a problem cause only Flug’s allowed to say things like that to my face.” She sneered when he scooted away. “Coward.”

“ _What if,_ ” Flug tried to reel the conversation back to something salvageable, “we did something simple but irritating. Like, I don’t know, poured salt in his coffee cup. Does he put a lot of sugar in it?”

“Uhh, actually I don’t think he drinks coffee.” The teenager shrugged, unconcerned by his superior’s sudden, horrified face. “He’s more of a tea drinker, he told me once it clears the mind better or something.”

“What the hell is wrong with people,” Flug whispered as he stared into a far-off space. “You don’t just not drink coffee. Especially not in a place like this. The hell does he drink, ‘Organic Energizer’?”

“Nah, pretty sure his favorite is Chai Tea.”

“What? Chai Tea? That’s just – that just means _Tea_ Tea, what the fuck?!” He was absolutely befuddled. “Who even comes up with a name like that?”

Dementia hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s like two shots of espresso, but with tea. You know I’m not legally allowed to have that? I didn’t even know you could ban someone from drinking something until that happened, you learn something new every day.”

“What on earth did you even do to get a restriction like that?” 

“I bet you’d love to know, wouldn’t you Mister Shrink?” She sat back into a squat, looking very pleased with herself. Martin peered sideways at her.

“You’re such a liar,” he announced, having grown back some spine. “There’s no way someone can get banned from drinking coffee. That’s totally bullshit.” The inmate kicked out and hit his knee, hard. “Ow-wuh!”

“Dementia, no violence. Martin, don’t provoke patients.” Flug said on autopilot, hand at his chin while he considered their options. “What about something more juvenile, like whoopie cushions or fake gum? We can avoid fingerprinting those, and they wouldn’t be dangerous.”

“But if you do stuff like that, he’ll totally know someone is out to get him and you’ll be his first suspect, right?” Dementia’s eyebrows furrowed. “What if he gets you fired over that? I don’t want to lose my favorite loser doctor over some stupid prank.”

“Hey, hey wait a sec,” Martin tapped fingers in the air like he was trying to play an invisible piano. “Thursday, this Thursday, how busy are you gonna be?”

“I’ll be, uh, fairly busy.” The psychiatrist felt it might be best not to mention the meeting with Interpol. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s a tour group this Thursday – a bunch of psychology students from my university, they’ll be here from noon to like, 16:00. I know some of them, they’ve been talking nonstop about this trip for weeks, I’ve got some friends really excited to see me. Maybe I could…”

Dementia’s face became a Christmas tree. “We’re getting outsiders involved now? Hell yes, I’m so much more ready for this!”

“Wait, hang on,” Flug held out his hands. “I don’t want this getting spread around – the more people know, the higher chance someone will get caught. Not to mention –”

“Oh shut up for a minute,” his patient bumped him, “I wanna hear Marty’s idea.”

‘Marty’ grimaced but continued. “I know why you’d be worried about that but my friends are all really cool, they were at a frat party once and got caught a little too close to the place by some cops, and they improvised alibis for each other right there on the street. It’s totally fine, they won’t blab.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” came the mumbled reply. “But you do realize this is a university-led tour, nobody’s going to step out of line if they don’t want to risk a potential job offer.”

“You’d be surprised,” the boy shrugged, completely nonchalant. “I can talk to them tonight, get some input at least if they won’t help us in person. Don’t really have much to lose at this point.”

The two teens set their best hopeful eyes on the psychiatrist, synchronized to a T. He sighed and pulled lightly on his bag. 

“Fine, okay. Sure. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Everything!” Dementia grinned.

“Probably nothing!” Martin stressed.

Flug didn’t know which teenager stressed him out more. He really couldn’t say.

“Alright, then it’s worth a shot I guess. Go ahead and do your socializing thing, and get back to me tomorrow morning before 9:00. If nothing comes of it then we’ll figure something else out. I don’t know.” 

“This is gonna be so cool,” the girl inmate drew her knees up to her chest in casual flexibility. “I’ve been out of the game for waaaay too long, I’m so rusty but I don’t even care!”

“Me too, god. Why now…” Flug rubbed at his eyes, missing the way the other two peered curiously at him. “If I get stress ulcers from this whole thing I won’t even be surprised.”

“ _You_ were in the game?” Martin’s face scrunched up. “Uh, no offense Doctor, but I kinda find that hard to believe.”

“Nah dude, Flug’s probably a regular old pro at this, he’s an ancient stick man and he gets this weird scary look on his face sometimes – actually you saw it earlier, just now! Wasn’t it creepy as hell?” 

The intern considered this, to his mentor’s exasperation. “Yeah, actually, I couldn’t see your eyes through your goggles at all. Huh. I never would’ve thought you had some secret devious side to you, Dr. Slys.”

“I don’t, I really don’t, but I’m just tired, so tired of this man.” He rubbed a little harder at his headwear. “Can we get back to our main subject now? Anything else needs to be said about the – what we might be doing on Thursday, or can I get to my actual job of counseling this poor misguided criminal?”

“Hey don’t get all cranky again, it’s not our fault you’re so obvious,” Dementia bumped into her doctor slightly harder than necessary. “And of course something else needs to be said, I’ve been having so much fun coming up with ideas but I can’t really join in and that’s not fair!”

“Well excuse me, princess, but there’s not much I can do about that.” Flug pushed back at her and they knocked shoulders together. “It’s bad enough that I’m involving you at all, you could be a blabber mouth for all I know. Might brag to someone about this.”

Something harder than happy teasing entered the girl’s eyes. She pursed her lips. “I’m no snitch. Snitches get stitches and I’m the one who gives it to them.”

“Okay, okay I’m sorry.” The doctor recognized a sore spot and respectfully backed off. “But I really don’t know how you can really do much more than be a conspirator at this point. We’re trying to go for subtle, remember. Nothing too big, nothing incriminating.”

The three of them sat in relative silence for a minute digesting that; relative because Dementia kept rocking left and right and brushing against the shoulders of both people sitting on either side of her. Flug noticed distantly that she wasn’t flinching when she made body contact with Martin. He filed that away for another session, quietly hopeful.

His patient brightened suddenly and turned to the other teenager.

“Oooh wait, you said Thursday right? I know a guy here who has some group stuff every few days, arts and crafts or some shit, I dunno, and I think he’ll be doing it on Thursday this week. Does the tour go check those out? Do you know?”

“I have no clue but, but I can check!” Martin scribbled on his clipboard. “Are we bringing him in on this too?”

“Yeah, maybe, I gotta work out the details with him though.”

“How on earth do you know any other inmates in this institute, you’ve been separated from most of them for months now!” Her psychiatrist frowned visibly. “How have you been communicating with him?!”

“I have my ways,” the teen waggled her eyebrows and made spooky ghost noises. “But stop asking stupid questions, Flug, it’s distracting us. So, Martin, you think you can figure out the schedule, find out if the tour will visit that group? I might have another way to get back at – what’s the asshole’s name? Bautista? Yeah? Ooh I was right, go me.”

“I can try to do that, yeah. I’ll get back to you tomorrow too, when I find out.” 

“Bueno, bueno. I think we’re all set then, just gonna play the waiting game. You guys gotta promise to keep me posted though, let me know everything that’s going on so I don’t get lost.” She paused, cocked her head, and faced Flug directly. “And you better get pictures somehow. Like, however you’re gonna prank him when it’s all set up, or the B-man’s face when it happens, I dunno. Something.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell you what happens? Describe it?” Martin leaned back on his hands.

“No you dingus, this is so much more important! It’s my first time having real fun in this boring place and I’m finally dragging Flug out of his goody-two-shoes act and into the real world, where he stops playing dumb and innocent and admits to me all of his dirty dark secrets!”

“That’s not going to happen. Ever.” 

“Yes it is, quit trying to deny it, denial is the first stage of joining the dark side.”

“…I think you mean it’s the first stage of grief, Dementia, or the first stage of love.”

“Yeah, sure, same thing, yadda yadda.” The inmate wiggled her feet and toes, head down and staring at Flug through her bangs. “Either way, they all lead the same way. Death and destruction and human suffering.”

“What kind of twisted world do you live in?” Martin gawked.

“Who knows, really,” Dementia murmured cryptically, “but it’s a damn fun one. You should come join me. All the best people are crazy, right Flug?”

She didn’t wait for her doctor’s response, and continued bantering with the intern. Neither one noticed that Flug had gone very still during that last exchange, nor that his goggles were reflecting the light again in a definite, concerning manner. 

Denial indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm still alive it turns out.
> 
> The last - 2 weeks? 3 weeks? - have been crazy hectic cause I've had a lot less free time for various reasons. Also, this chapter is almost completely dialogue which I love writing but it also stresses me out cause there's no balance with other stuff so I kept editing and re-editing. I'm hoping to get back into a weekly posting schedule again, but if that can't happen then I'll be posting at least twice a month until probably September. I hope everyone's alright with that. 
> 
> Fun fact, that conversation about Chai Tea is almost exactly the conversation I had with a friend who speaks Mandarin and Kantonese. She could not believe the sheer bizarreness of naming a flavor "tea tea". Question time: are you a coffee drinker, a tea drinker, both, or neither? I'm a tea drinker, I personally can't stand the taste of any kind of coffee and caffeine does weird stuff to my system. My favorite tea is chamomile because I am basic and proud of it, haha.


	18. It's Only Week 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now [fanart](https://whisker-biscuit.tumblr.com/post/179660597548/subtletoes-made-after-reading-whisker-biscuits) by the lovely [subtletoes](http://subtletoes.tumblr.com/) for this chapter! Please check it out and support this wonderful artist!

I had a plan.

It was an excellent plan – one might even look at it and proclaim it as impeccable, or foolproof. Most certainly one deserving the knowledge of belonging to Black Hat.

But, indubitably, I could not have accounted for the sheer fickleness of one Doctor Flug Slys. Oh I attempted to do so, for sure. I was expecting nothing less from the current object of my curiosity, or else he wouldn’t have lived this long. 

Perhaps it is just this particular human, or perhaps it is the fickleness of humans in general that continues to baffle me. Either way, I would not lament so much without explaining, in detail, exactly what caused the lamenting. That’s just rude.

It started, in an increasingly disturbing pattern, with our scheduled time together. Wednesdays are always a fascinating aspect of time – they often guarantee a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ rest of the week. If Monday’s breach of personal space was any indication, I might have had more sense to be prepared for the worst.

Flug was unusually chipper this morning, which I suppose should have been my first indication. Of course I had to make it my business, which...was admittedly something I should not have done in hindsight.

“You’re perkier than usual, Doctor.” 

I watched with half-lidded eyes and a half-lidded smile as Flug reacted in his more predictable, nervous manner. His hands toyed with his headwear - a truly irritating quirk if I ever saw one. 

“Oh, am I? I’ll t-try to curb back on that.” The human straightened, then slouched in obvious retraction. The idea that he was using body language to try to keep me comfortable, in light of the event two days before, was both laughable and insulting.

“No, no please, continue displaying your distasteful emotions for all of the world to see. It really isn’t a bother.” I would have propped my chin along my claws if only my attire could permit it. “I only ask that you share what has you in such a tizzy.”

Flug looked conflicted, and I smiled a little wider.

“Don’t be afraid, Doctor. You certainly weren’t when you disregarded protocol and my personal space on Monday.”

Instead of the flinch or fidget I was expecting then, my doctor gave a groan and put his face in one hand. “Noooo, not you too...why is everyone getting in my grill about this?”

“Getting...in your grill?” Never in my long years had I heard this phrase. I could only imagine the three seconds of horrifying confusion on my face. I was forced to compose myself quickly when Flug saw that as a prompt to persist his grumbling.

“Yes! First security, then that bast – er,” his goggles flicked upwards to the camera, “some coworkers, and now suddenly you’re grousing at me when you were acting fine with it! What am I supposed to do, not take your word at face value anymore?!”

He threw his hands up briefly and then went back to mumbling and pulling at his coat. This session was quickly spiraling out of orbit, and not in the way I had intended at all. As a self-proclaimed master of improv, however, I adapted to it and took advantage of my dear doctor’s peculiar mood swings.

“Why Flug, why would you say such a thing? My word is worth more than anything in this pathetic excuse of an institute. I was merely reminding you of your brashness; your ‘brass balls’, if you will. I never stated I had disliked it.”

The human stopped fretting long enough to give me a stare of both suspicion and some vague thing resembling hope. I saw an opening and I took it.

“Actually, I felt a real connection between the two of us last time. Perhaps we could...continue where we left off?”

To accentuate my supposed sincerity in the offer, I sat down carefully with my back pressed lightly against the cell’s mattress. Flug blinked dumbly at the gesture before realizing himself. He edged closer to the center of the room, with his security chaperone shadowing right behind. My face curled in on itself as when a putrid smell is sensed.

“Doctor, I understand your dedication to personal safety, but I’d appreciate not having that trained baboon looming over us like he’s obviously planning to do.”

The psychiatrist grew more suspicious, as was expected. I gave my most honest, open reaction. Which is to say, I became a blank slate. We watched each other in clear challenge until he sighed in defeat and turned to his guard, who frowned but complied by retreating to one side of the room.

“There. That – does that work?” Flug pointed to a spot on the floor roughly half a meter in front of me. At my nod, he sat down very slowly without averting his gaze away. I smiled.

“Very nicely, Dr. Slys.” 

“Okay, okay. Good. So uh, by picking up where we left off, do you mean, uh. We were on...music theory last, right? How’s that sound?”

Now was the time to put the first significant part of my plan into action. I pretended to consider his request, allowing my eyes to drift unfocused to some far point in the room. Then, to keep up the pretense of having an unexpected epiphany, I snapped full attention back to my doctor, faux concern in my lifted eyebrows.

“Oh, but Doctor, shouldn’t we start the way we did two days ago? It would only be proper.”

“I – proper? What?” The human was flummoxed, just as I had intended.

“Why, that lovely invasion of personal space! Surely we can’t have a civil conversation without first initiating a little foreplay.”

“ _Foreplay?!_ ”

“Oh bother, it seems I failed to tell you what happened last session. What you did my dear Slys, by touching my shoulder in that way, was – in crude human terms I suppose the word is flirt. And you caught me so off guard with that gesture that how else could I have responded? I needed to know you better before I made a decision. Even my German teasing was a testing of the waters, so to speak.”

This was all a fabrication, of course. I have no such courting rituals – in fact none at all, being what I am – but the lie was completely worth the unadulterated shock in every inch of Flug’s body. I let him squirm slack-jawed in that for a moment as I glanced to the unfortunate third party in the room, who was paying the least amount of attention one could give while still being present.

My doctor made a whine high in his throat, and I knew – no, I _assumed_ I had won this round.

“So I think it’s only fair, Dr. Slys, that if you want to continue where we left off, it should start in the same manner as before. And to reach the height of that fairness, I believe I should be the one initiating it. What do you say to that?”

I won’t deny it; I had a few ulterior motives in this play. If Flug refused, we would go back to our comfortable balance of prey and predator under guise of doctor and patient respectively, without a need for further attempts by this human to ‘get to know me better’. If he agreed, I could –

“Ah, okay.” The compliance came with no small amount of hesitance and regret in the psychiatrist’s voice. But it was there all the same. I pulled back my lips, stretched them into almost nothing, and gave full display of my splintered teeth.

“Excellent.”

I moved forward along the flooring. Flug did not flinch away. I came up until our knees were touching. Still he kept his nerve. I played my ace.

“Now that we’re here, I’ve realized I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. You have full use of your arms and I do not. Now,” I cut him off before he could spout some policy nonsense. “Now I’m quite aware about safety and related drivel, you don’t have to spell it out. But I’d really enjoy something I can provide myself, yes?”

I received only a tentative nod in response. If I could only read his mind right now.

“I have a proposition then, Doctor. Let me lay my head against your chest and listen to your heartbeat.”

That was a reaction I would never regret, regardless of bungled plans. Flug jerked like I had placed physical blows to his head, his hands broke the pencil he held in two places, and a sheen of sweat was impossibly visible along his paper bag where his forehead sat hidden. I waited.

“I, you, that’s not-!” The doctor bounced from one sentence starter to the next like a child jumping on a fluffy bed. He blustered in his words for a few moments more, flailing most comically. 

“Well, Flug? Deal or no deal?” My smile had not even twitched.

Something steely entered my human’s visage and reminded me of the reason I was so intrigued by him. He straightened his body into his best impression of a wooden plank and set his jaw with an audible click. There was one moment where he took a deep, filling breath. Then he looked me right in the eye.

“Yes. Okay.”

I saw his posturing for what it was and wasted no time. My legs sprung me to him in the blink of an eye, the side of my head hit the left side of his chest in an instant, and my hat fit very well curved over his shoulder. The air left his body in a puff of a whimper.

“Does this make you uncomfortable, Flug? Because I’m having a wonderful time. In fact, I believe this is the best course of action for my rehabilitation.” I physically felt the tremble from my doctor and relished in it. “I think we’re making true progress, I really do.”

Ah, the human heartbeat. Possibly the most wonderful object to ever come from its meatsack container, it is a symphony of refinement and splendor. Whether caught in the slow throes of death or racing to a heart attack, I have always enjoyed immensely the thrill of finding its pulse before its human has left this plane of life. But now, oh now, I could savor it in all its enticing melody as Flug flushed in embarrassment and terror against me.

His organ was a delight, rapid and faint and – there was a flutter, a skip in rhythm! I felt myself salivate unbounded at the sensation. Spittle dripped and splashed to the floor between his crossed legs, interrupting the beautiful beating as it hissed and melted into the padding. My doctor squeaked at the sight of it. I huddled closer against him.

“Not one word about that little detail,” I whispered into his ribcage, mindful not to let my saliva touch his clothes. “We’re doing so well together, Flug. I don’t want a minor thing like acid spit to force you away from me.”

“Acid...spit…?” It was impressive he could form the question, incoherent as he seemed to be.

“Shh, shh. Not strong enough to get through the walls or even these restraints, don’t you worry, but in such an uptight facility like this one, who’s to say what asinine things a paranoid coworker would do. I’d rather not lose my favorite doctor, you understand.”

“I’m your...what?” Flug sounded like he was having trouble filtering oxygen to his brain. You couldn’t guess it from the way his heart was pounding so poignantly.

“My favorite doctor, Doctor. Really, listening comprehension should be a strong suit of a psychiatrist.”

The human began making noises akin to a basset hound, with English words interspersed enough that I could make out things like “favorite” and “what” and “god help me”. Emboldened, I went further.

“Why Flug, don’t you enjoy getting closer to your patients? Isn’t that what you strive for? Knowing them on a more...personal level?” I felt his heart rate shoot into dangerous territory and responded in kind by turning my head and scraping my teeth against his chest. 

My plan, if you had not guessed it by now, was to either fluster or freak out my dear doctor to the point that he would never again attempt such a stupid stunt as to physically touch me. Up until this moment, I had been very confident in my ability to do both at once. What I had expected by doing what I did was...well. It was nothing near what happened next.

Flug’s hitch of breath was not unusual; it was a common result of being startled or upset. But as my bared teeth pressed through clothing to human flesh, he shifted in his seat and let out a ‘hmmm’ sound between pursed lips. Believing he was simply trying to feign indifference, I opened my mouth and nipped lightly at his coat; a reminder to this human that he was skirting death by my judgement.

“H-Hang on, wait,” he pleaded quietly. I mistook it for discomfort and pulled at a button in response. 

It was discomfort, yes, but of an entirely different kind. Because when I looked up to see the effect my actions had, I saw shaking, nervous wide eyes trying desperately to tell me to stop with expression alone. It made me grin, button still held between two canines.

His hands came up, most likely to ward me away, but the instant the gloves touched my shoulders I heard, _felt_ the worst indignity bubble up through my throat, past the accursed button and vibrating right against my doctor’s heart.

I purred.

Flug’s hands flew off me in an instant, and one sickening look upwards into a disbelieving face showed me more than I wanted to know. 

He had heard it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm probably gonna post just one chapter at the beginning of each month until sometime mid September, cause life has been busy. In the meantime, enjoy this accidental screw-up by Black Hat, ehehehe. For those of you here for the slow burn, don't worry. It's an accident, could happen to anyone, now they have to deal with it. Yay! 
> 
> Question time: do you get secondhand embarrassment, or do you laugh in the face of such things? I can’t even watch a video of a stranger saying something stupid to other people without covering my face and turning away. It’s that bad folks.


	19. Sexual Ain't Ethical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's one thing to touch a patient on the shoulder. It's another thing entirely to let that inmate lay his head on your chest. Flug is reminded of his position in life.

Flug wasn’t really sure what was going on.

In one moment, he had been trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d apparently flirted unintentionally with a patient – their most dangerous patient no less – and then suddenly Mister Black Don’t-Touch-Me-I’ll-Kill-You Hat was wanting to press up against his chest and listen to his doctor’s heartbeat. And then, _and then!_ The next thing Flug knew was that he had agreed with it, and the scariest creature on this earth was nuzzling his cold, rough, acid spit-drooling face against him. It was inappropriate and wrong and embarrassing and god was he thankful there was a bag over his face. He couldn’t even imagine how poor Lucas was feeling, stuck in the same room as he was.

And then Black Hat had purred. 

It was like a physical cue, and the psychiatrist dropped his hands and stared down at his patient, who was rapidly losing color for someone who probably couldn’t actually pale. They both had a brief second of locked eyes and shared soul-searching.

And suddenly Flug found himself alone and unbalanced as Black Hat sprang back to the other side of the room in one leap. The poor man fell forward and faceplanted, his goggles pushed into his face. He scrambled to his hands and knees, only to see Lucas coming up and planting himself between the doctor and the patient. Flug looked up through the guard’s legs and nearly blanched.

Black Hat was spitting mad. Literally, spitting and hissing and frothing. There were no human words that passed his lips as he crouched at the opposite wall, visible eye red and entire body vibrating in fury. Lucas stood in front of Flug with a taser in hand.

“Stand down. Right now.” The guard warned, pointing the weapon towards the threatening inmate. Black Hat’s chest heaved in angry exertion but he didn’t take a step closer.

Flug was pulled up by his arm, quickly but carefully, and Lucas nudged him towards the door without turning his back on the patient. The doctor got the message and backed up until he hit the door handle, where Ben hurried to unlock it from the other side. Lucas walked backwards and they both slipped out of the cracked opening. 

The instant they were out, Black Hat surged off the wall and rammed into the door, forcing both guards to push their whole bodies against it to keep it closed. Flug fumbled with his key for a moment but managed to safely lock the door just as the inmate went for another slam. The frame held steady, and all three men breathed collective sighs of relief. Flug sagged to the floor and didn’t realize that Black Hat had done the same until he heard the inmate whispering through the cracks.

“You’re dead, Flug.” Was the quiet, livid announcement. “Whatever witchcraft you’ve employed stops now. I will kill you in this place, and I will do it in ways you never knew possible. Don’t bother ‘watching your back’, because that won’t save you. I promise that you will die here, in this room, and no one will mourn you. You have my word.”

Black Hat finished his declaration and retreated, but the psychiatrist stayed on the floor, too afraid to move a muscle. He startled badly when Ben touched his shoulder.

“Dr. Slys? Are you alright?” He and Lucas stared down at Flug in mirrored concern.

“…No.” He admitted, twisting fistfuls of his coat. “I, I’m really n-not.”

“Do we, need to call someone? I can call someone.” Lucas wrung his hands together like he was cold.

“No. It’s fine. I just…give me a min – give me an hour. I don’t know.” Flug was still so stiff he was having trouble standing up. Ben silently gave him a hand. “I’ll report it, I will. I just need to, to get my bearings again. I’m okay.”

All three men tensed when Black Hat’s door rattled and an angry, hydraulic-like hiss swept into the hall. Lucas reached for his taser, but the door did not rattle again. Flug took a few steps towards 505’s room.

“I’m just going to…I’ll just check on my other patient for a little bit. You know, make sure he’s not f-freaked out. Or anything. Yeah. You guys should maybe just…do your thing. Keep doing your thing. Okay? Yeah.”

The psychiatrist pressed into 505’s door and waited. He watched as Ben gave a small, knowing nod and stood strong again by Black Hat’s cell. Lucas joined him, but he hadn’t stopped wringing his hands. He also wasn’t looking Flug in the eye. 

Flug huffed out slowly and opened the bear’s door. Immediately he was surrounded by blue fur and fearful, fretful grunts. The doctor dropped into 505’s arms like a raindrop plopping into a bucket; imperceptible and disappearing from sight in an instant.

Outside, Lucas finally dropped his hands at his sides and scuffed a shoe into the floor, face blank and wandering. Ben opened his mouth to ask what happened when there was another hiss from behind, causing them both to spin around, weapons at the ready.

Black Hat stood at eye-level with his head not quite touching the bars. He was still noticeably angry with his teeth bared and his breathing heavy. The men went still as they waited for something to happen. But the inmate didn’t say or do anything. He simply stood there, in quiet smoldering rage, and stared between them at some distant point. 

It took over three minutes for Black Hat to leave the door, but he only retreated to pace the perimeter of his confinement. One rapid lap, one eerily slow lap, then repeated. Not once did he slow down or hesitate. Ben’s arm hair tingled. He looked over to Lucas, who was staring unblinking at the inmate, and then past him to the bear’s cell, where Dr. Slys had yet to come out of.

So they stayed that way. Ten minutes passed, then another twenty-five, and no one deviated from their behavior.

Lucas’ phone buzzed.

The action was enough to pull the guard from whatever trance he’d worked himself into, as he made a sound of surprise and checked the message. Ben’s gaze flickered over the screen, snooping unseen.

_I need to see you in my office right now._

_Dr. Rorschach_

With a grimace, Lucas put his phone away right as Dr. Slys emerged from 505’s den, covered in shedding blue fur. The doctor didn’t look much better than when he’d entered, but his legs appeared a little more steady. He and Lucas shared a fatigued look and walked away together, leaving Ben alone as he often was.

Black Hat hissed again.

...

Flug didn’t speak the entire trip down to his boss’ office. Neither did Lucas. They arrived at her door in a disturbing, shared unease. When they entered, Flug felt Dr. Rorschach’s aggravation so strongly he just about ducked his head to avoid an expected flying object that never came.

“Why, gentlemen, how lovely for you to join me. I almost expected you to bow out.” The words came out clipped and vigilant as the director drummed her fingers against the desk she sat at. Her other hand hovered over her computer keyboard.

“No Ma’am, we’d never,” Lucas said placatingly, pleadingly. Flug nodded, focused on the way her jaw ironed out.

“Well that’s lovely. Wonderful. We can get started then.” Dr. Rorschach turned the computer screen around, showing the paused recording of the failed session with Black Hat less than an hour before. He could be seen snuggling against his doctor’s chest, uninhibited, while the in-room guard looked in the opposite direction.

Flug resisted the urge to reach up and tug on his bag. Beside him, Lucas sucked in air. Their boss looked between them, gauging reactions. She hit a few keys and the video began playing.

_“Does this make you uncomfortable, Flug? Because I’m having a wonderful time. In fact, I believe this is the best course of action for my rehabilitation. I think we’re making true progress, I really do.”_

Black Hat opened his mouth in the clip, dripping green saliva to the ground. Flug watched himself squeak and shift. There was murmuring from both inmate and doctor that couldn’t be made out, and then Black Hat was nuzzling the psychiatrist without repercussion.

_“Why Flug, don’t you enjoy getting closer to your patients? Isn’t that what you strive for? Knowing them on a more...personal level?”_

Flug wanted to melt into the floor at the look his boss was giving him. He wanted to go back up to Floor 5 and let Black Hat just spit on him, turn him to mush or acid or anything. 

_“H-Hang on, wait.”_

His promise of death wasn’t sounding so bad right now.

Dr. Rorschach paused the clip again, right before the damning purr came out. She leaned back in her chair to scrutinize Flug from the bridge of her nose. Lucas was staring at the floor.

“Dr. Slys, you’re aware of our policies regarding patient-doctor interactions.”

It wasn’t a question. So Flug didn’t answer. She continued.

“If I didn’t know better, and I really hope I do, then I’d say you looked like you were enjoying that brilliant breach of ethics. Please tell me I know better.”

“I…you know better, Doctor.”

“That’s right. I know you’re a stickler for rules, which is a strength at this institution, not a fault. But I also know you tend to get in over your head and either don’t realize it or don’t care.” The director drummed her fingers again. “This little…incident, would have been easy to dismiss if you had asserted yourself and kept appropriate distance. In fact, it wouldn’t even be that bad if you’d just reported it to me immediately, instead of…hiding as you did, and letting me find out from a rightfully concerned security team. Oh, and speaking of security.”

She turned to Lucas, who just about shrank a meter. 

“Why didn’t you intervene? You could have stepped in when it was obvious things were too much for Dr. Slys to handle on his own. Or you could have said something to deter the patient. I know it was supposed to be a therapy session, but honestly. There’s protocol to be followed in situations like these and I’m starting to wonder if anyone actually knows what that is.”

“By, uh, situations,” Lucas said haltingly, “do you mean, like, an uncooperative inmate? Or –”

“I mean a patient attempting sexual contact. Either as a favor or for a favor.”

The phrase was stated matter-of-fact, but that didn’t stop Flug from choking on his own spit.

“Se-sexual contact?! Doctor, with a-all due respect, I really don’t think Black Hat was –”

“Attempting sexual contact? Because that’s exactly what I saw, and heard. He described physical touch as foreplay, Dr. Slys. In his own words, in this recording. You might not think an…individual of his nature would do something like that, but we’re already aware that Black Hat is one of the most dangerous and cunning criminals we’ve ever housed at this institute. You cannot expect me to believe he hasn’t used this method to his advantage in the past.”

“But, but, you’re insinuating that I would-!” Heat was stirring in Flug’s words. And in his body.

“I’m not insinuating anything about _you_ , Doctor. Only about him.” Dr. Rorschach’s expression softened just a tad. “I know you told me you could handle this case by yourself, but there’s no shame in asking for help. We know he’s crafty. We know he can and will do anything to get out of here. I’d rather not have one of my best psychiatrists face discipline because of an inmate’s manipulation. Please understand.”

He gave a long sigh and pulled at the ends of his gloves, thinking. With another sigh and some swallowed pride, Flug stood a little straighter and responded.

“I won’t let anything like this happen again, Doctor, and I promise I will let you know if I can’t take this case on my own.” He considered the situation. “And for the record, I won’t allow myself to be, manipulated, by something as petty as s-sexual – as that. I don’t know if you’ve watched the rest of the recording, but uh, something tells me that from Black Hat’s response, there probably won’t be anything like this again. At least, I don’t think he’ll try anything physical.”

_I hope._

Dr. Rorschach seemed satisfied with that answer, because she pressed her index fingers to her nose and lips and looked between Flug and Lucas without as much irritation. The guard fidgeted, an unusual sight for such a large man.

“So can I…go back to work then?”

“…Yes. You may. Just reread the policy guidebook and don’t let things get that far again.”

Lucas scampered off immediately, which left Flug in the awkward position between the open door to freedom and his boss with an expression that told him he still wasn’t off the hook. He forced his feet to stay still.

“Dr. Slys.”

“Yes?” The reply was way too eager but he was ready to be out of there.

“You and I are meeting with Interpol and Inspector Daniels tomorrow at 15:00 about your patient’s collar.”

“Yeah. Yes. Um, I haven’t forgotten about that, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Good.” She tapped her chin. “Since I’ve reprimanded you about your and your inmate’s actions earlier, I think we can agree that the matter is resolved, as long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“…Yes?”

“Yes. I don’t believe we need to inform the inspector about this incident, then, as it’s been dealt with swiftly and without further problems. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You would do that?” Flug gaped at her and then caught himself. “Ah, I mean, thank you, Doctor. I agree. Very much so.”

“Okay then.” She waved him off. “Get back to work, then, Dr. Slys. Every second wasted is valuable time working with a patient.”

The psychiatrist didn’t have to be told twice. He gave a curt nod, turned around, strode out of his boss’ office, and kept striding all the way to his own office. Once inside, he straightened his lab coat, brushed the wrinkles out of his pants, and took off his long yellow gloves to apply more of his hand sanitizer from the bottle on the desk. He rubbed his hands until the gel was completely soaked in, then meticulously put the gloves back on, one finger at a time. Finally, he checked his headwear for signs of tearing and smoothed out every crinkle.

Then, as an afterthought, Flug double-checked his clothing, this time for signs of acidic saliva. With nothing obvious to be found, he collapsed at his desk and brushed off some stray 505 hair. That bear really gave the best cuddles.

On his keyboard sat an inconspicuous little index card, slipped under the door before 9:00 that morning and picked up by him shortly after. He stared at it, then lifted it and flipped it over. There was only one sentence, in Martin’s handwriting.

**They’ll help tomorrow.**

Flug ripped the card up and dropped the pieces in his waste basket. No matter how vague it was, he didn’t want even the slightest bit of evidence against him or the intern. Nerves fluttered up from thinking about what would go down the next day, and what had already gone down today. To appease them, the doctor fiddled with his coat. His fingers kept straying to the button Black Hat had played with.

He didn’t even realize it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, now Flug has two promises going for him. One to save his job, and the other to lose his life. Don't be like Flug, folks.
> 
> If things go as planned, I should have the next chapter up sometime mid-September. After that I'm crossing my fingers to get back into a weekly update schedule. Thanks so much for all your patience, dear readers. It means so much to me.
> 
> Question time! What's the most disturbing thing you've seen from the Villainous show so far? I'm tied between Flug getting ready to torture Mojo Jojo and that one time Black Hat pretended to be 505 and we saw THAT beautiful monstrosity.


	20. This Bear is not A Therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 505 suffers from a disturbing dream and a disturbing conversation. Black Hat plots.

_505 hummed as he sat in a vast field of daisies, half a flower crown held daintily between his paws. A soft breeze rustled his fur and brought whispers of goodness. He paused in the crown’s making to watch two beautiful birds as they flew overhead, shimmering in the sky._

_One was all greens and reds and blues, flitting up and down every which way like it was having the time of its life. Its trills were loud, high-pitched, and sounded suspiciously like a cackling toddler. The other was white and lighter blue with a head completely covered in tawny feathers down to its neck. It flew steadily like a vulture; wings spread and stiff save a few calculated flaps to keep it in the air._

_The crazy one went into a loop-de-loop and ended it by crashing against its calmer companion from above. The tan-headed one squawked, offended, and was suddenly not so calm anymore. It pulled up in place as if standing in mid-air and screeched at its ‘attacker’, who only cackled louder and went into another loop farther away._

_They had such different colors and personalities that one might have thought they were different species, but 505 knew somehow that this wasn’t true. He watched as the two birds squabbled for a minute more before going on their way together, and the bear smiled in contentment._

_A gunshot cracked through the valley._

_It cracked through the air as well, because 505 gaped in shock as the lively bird went limper than it ever should be and dropped straight from the sky. Its companion cried out, horrified, and tried to dive to reach its friend, but another crack brought a hole into its wing and sent it wobbling in its flight._

_But it didn’t fall._

_505 was already running to find the bird that had crushed daisies in its plunge to the ground. He dropped next to the listless thing and picked it up in a cradle, feeling its heart beat in frantic fear. Above them both, the tan-headed one cried more, circling as best it could with a tattered wing._

_All 505 could do was hold the suffering creature and give reassuring sounds of his own. But then there was the click of a disengaged safety, and the bear looked up into the barrel of a gun. There was a man in hunter’s garb behind that gun – aiming it not at 505 but at the bird in his arms – and his eyes were cruel and dark._

_“Drop it,” the man said firmly._

_That was impossible, so 505 shook his head and trembled. The man’s face didn’t twitch. He stepped forward once and the gun was nearly pressed against the colorful bird’s breast._

_“Give her to me right now.”_

_He shook his head again, curling his arms around his hurt friend to protect her. Blood was leaking onto his fur. The valley of daisies warped around them into something else, still white but no longer pretty or natural. The gun morphed into an electric shock stick, buzzing just out of harmful reach. The man’s clothing shimmered bright like a coat._

_The blood remained._

_“Give that psycho bitch to me right now or I’ll shove this up your ass!”_

_Someone else was crying overhead, crying and pleading and screaming. It echoed like he wasn’t really in the room._

_“I’m sorry,” he cried._

_“Don’t let her get hurt!” He pleaded._

_“HELP HER!” He screamed._

_A shadow loomed high over 505 from behind, and a chill went up his spine. He raised his head, looked up at the rotting face of a crow who was twice his size. It stared down at him in return, one beady eye burning like it knew everything he was._

_It opened its beak and said –_

“Bear.”

505 startled awake with his claws out.

Something laughed from outside his room, across the hallway.

“It’s too bad I couldn’t reach into that nightmare. It sounded delectable.” The Dark One watched as the bear had to take a moment to realize where he was. 

“…Reer…?” _…A nightmare…?_

“So it would seem. You were crying in your sleep. You’re quite the loud dreamer, Bear.”

505 rubbed his eyes and found it was true; his paws glistened with wetness when he looked at them. Tears. Not blood. He sagged in his bed in sheer relief. The pictures were still vivid in his head but that was normal. That was something he could handle. Those birds…

“Well, it appears you’ve come to grips with reality again. Good. I didn’t wake you up to be your therapist this evening. Now we can get to the more important things. Like myself.”

He really didn’t want to talk to the Dark One again. Once was too much. The bear grumbled without realizing it, then froze when his neighbor hissed. It cracked its head sideways with a long sneer. 

“Hell’s bells, has everyone suddenly grown a backbone in this miserable place? First Fl– _him_ ,” it spat, “and his guards, and now you. It’s really starting to piss me off.”

“Mewoo?” _What do you want?_

“Watch your tone, insignificant creature. I want to know what your – what that dear old doctor friend was doing in your cell after the…altercation between us. Was he crying in your arms? Trembling half to death? Give me all the details.”

The bear shivered from the sudden rush of evil expectation sent his way. He wasn’t ready to deal with this, not after that horrific dream. So he brought his hands to his chest and refused to meet the Dark One’s gaze.

“Clamming up, are we? Am I too much to handle for you? Understandable. But not what I want.” It pressed its face up to the bars. “I demand you tell me how he responded to my threats. Was he shaken to his core? Afraid to leave your room?”

505 curled in on himself.

“Did he try to pretend like nothing happened? Was he putting on false bravados?”

The Dark One began growling when it didn’t get an answer.

“Did he brush it off like it was nothing? Was he affected at all?! Damn it Bear, tell me now!”

The bear didn’t dare breath. But then there was a horrible grating sound that sent his head shooting upwards to see the Dark One grinding its teeth against the bars of its cell. A forked tongue flicked expertly against the air.

“I can smell your fear! I can smell you, Bear, but you won’t answer me! And I can smell his fear too! But the bastard keeps coming back! Every goddamn day he’s coming by to check in, or say hello, like we’re bloody neighbors sharing afternoon tea! Like nothing’s happened! Like I’m not making him piss his pants every other day! Like he’s not making me –”

The Dark One cut off with a gravelly wet sound deep in its throat. It screamed aloud, and when other inmates down the hall responded with their own cries, it screamed again even louder. 505’s eyes were bugging out of his skull.

“What the fuck am I doing wrong?! I almost killed him in our first meeting! Wormed his full name out of him in our second! Was that not enough? Is he a demon in human skin? Sent to torment me in this, this, this fucking hellhole?!”

505 ducked as the Dark One rammed body-first into its cell door and the lights flickered. He grabbed three stuffed animals and hugged them tight, rocking back and forth to distract himself as best he could from the pitch black hatred oozing into everything. 

It felt like rot.

The Dark One was still rambling, but it was quickly dissolving into another language that 505 didn’t know and didn’t want to know. The words were ancient and accented. The bear covered his ears and waited for the darkness to take him away.

Eventually something changed. The hatred began to recede back to its master, and its master was no longer speaking those things that should not be uttered. 505 wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he remained wound up in his little ball. He was very aware that the danger was not gone.

Because the Dark One started laughing.

It started out quietly in a dark little chuckle, and within seconds it became loud and unhinged. Unhinged and deadly. Deadly and…excited.

“I’ve been looking at this all wrong, Bear.” It finally said with tears of mirth in its eyes. “I’ve made him bring his guard down, but in doing so I’ve allowed the same for myself. I haven’t been looking at this objectively.”

“……Orrr?” _……Okay?_

“You see, Bear, I know he has a darkness to him. I’ve known that for a long time. And yet I’ve still been treating him like an average, pathetic human. Which he is clearly not. Mmm…I’ve assumed that my actions would cause discomfort in him. Embarrassment, disgust, those lovely things. But in that, session, today. I should not have had such a…reaction like that.”

505 looked at his cellmate, confused. But the Dark One shook its head and continued on.

“That meant that he was enjoying it. Or at the very least wasn’t as shaken as I calculated. No, I triggered something dark there and it in turn awakened my love of darkness, of the Dusk. That was the reason for my slip up. Nothing more and nothing less. He holds no power over me, has no witchcraft or tricks. It was all still his fault of course, and for that I will kill him. Perhaps in our next session, perhaps later. At the very least, I believe I know what I’m dealing with. He won’t have that effect on me ever again.”

It bumped the brim of its hat against the bars as if in contemplation. The look in its eye was bloodthirsty.

“No, that was one miscalculation. And he will pay so, so dearly for it. Oh, it’s been so long since I had this much free time to plan out a ruined life, this one will be something special. But I’m not mad anymore. Isn’t that funny, Bear? I was angry, and then I talked to you, and now I’m not angry anymore! Even figured some things out for myself! It seems this madhouse isn’t so useless after all, yes?”

The Dark One didn’t wait for a response. It turned back to its room with a psychotic tilt to its face, leaving 505 snuggled into his bed with all his instincts on high alert. Those, too, eventually slowed enough to allow the bear to uncoil his tense muscles and breathe out a silent sigh.

He didn’t get much sleep for the rest of the night, torn between being anxious about the Dark One coming back (which it never did) or terrified that his dreams would become nightmares (which they always did, but nothing like earlier).

It was hard to tell which option was worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 505 should just get his therapist license at this point. His business line will be like "Successfully got the worst being on Earth to talk about his feelings". Poor bear, I love him I promise.
> 
> Also: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA we hit over 10,000 hits! Oh my gosh everyone, thank you so much! You're all so great and I love you all and I never thought I'd get so much interest in this fic and I actually started crying when I saw that, you're all so amazing!!!
> 
> I have an announcement as well as a sort of...voting question related to this fic. Originally I had planned around 60ish chapters with a clear goal in mind. However, not only are the days going slower than I had planned (2-3 chapters per "day"), but I've been thinking about some of my plot points and character progression and I've realized that I might not have a realistic amount of time set for these things - namely the slow burn.
> 
> So the voting question is this: should I extend the timeline in this fic (which would probably double the fic's full length and take longer to do) or should I leave it as is (all the plot points planned out but the dilemma mentioned above)? If you have any suggestions I'm absolutely open to them, and please be honest. I want you guys to be satisfied, not rushed or feeling like the fic is dragging on too long.
> 
> Thank you, everyone.


	21. The Big Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to pull off that prank, but someone has some misgivings. Flug goes to the meeting with the Inspector and learns exactly what he's dealing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of violence and mild body horror later in the chapter.

_9:00_

Flug and Martin met at 9:00 on the dot, right in front of Dementia’s cell. The intern had his hands in his pockets but it was obvious he was fidgeting with the fabric inside.

“So, we’re actually doing this today. Holy shit,” he whispered in a jitter. “I’m going to prank my boss, holy shit!”

“Okay, easy, d-don’t go announcing it to the neighborhood,” Flug cautioned. He took out his set of keys and unlocked the door as quickly as possible. “This is a just a normal therapy session, on a normal day. Okay?”

That statement was proven wrong – or right, depending on the point of view – when Dementia sprang from their left side and knocked both doctor and intern off their feet. Their clipboards went flying.

“Heyyyyy guys, did you miss me? I missed you! Well actually no, that’s not true, I only missed Flug. I’d say sorry Martin, but I’m not sorry. At all.” 

She was sprawled across the floor with her head and shoulders resting easily on Flug’s flattened collarbone. He would have tried to get her off, but he was too busy trying to get the wind back into him. 

Martin had fallen too. He sat up quickly, not stuck underneath a hyperactive inmate like his supervisor, and looked between the dogpile in front of him and the still-open door behind them all. The teen shifted closer to Dementia and she stopped talking immediately to glare at him.

The message was clear: _don’t touch me._ So instead Martin scooted away and closed the cell door with his heel. Dementia went back to rambling as if she’d never stopped.

“So I was thinking a lot last night about us three, and what we’re doing today, you know, and I’ve decided it’s not fair that you guys get all the fun! I mean I already hooked up with my inmate buddy so don’t worry he’s gonna help us out, but am I supposed to just sit here and be the looney girl while you guys are out there having fun? I don’t think I like that at all!”

“Dementia…off, please…” Her doctor patted at her weakly.

“And I know you can’t really let me out without losing your job or whatever, so then last night I was thinking some more and came up with an amazing plan! How about I pretend to escape? Then you guys have alibis cause you’ll be looking for me, and then I can hide somewhere safe, like the vents or something I don’t know, and then we can all meet up at some secret place and then we can go prank that Bautista guy together!”

“Dementia, suéltame, por favor,” he tried again, a little stronger this time.

“Oh, lo siento Flug, I didn’t realize you were dying, hah!” Dementia wiggled backwards so her head was on the ground, pressed against his shoulder. Her hair spilled everywhere. 

Martin took this chance to grab ahold of his supervisor’s arm and pull him gently into a sitting position. Flug clutched at his chest as he took long, deep gulps of air. He turned his irritated gaze down to his patient.

“Oooh, you got that scary goggle thing going on again,” she giggled. “I was thinking about that too, you know. How you can get all dark and creepy like that. We should totally use that! Like if we run into a guard or something, I can do my crazy person act and you can just, like, stand there doing that without saying anything! And I don’t know what Martin can do, maybe he can be our hostage? I’ve always wanted to take a hostage, this will be great!”

“I’m not gonna be your hostage,” the intern grumbled.

“Oh don’t be a party pooper, it’ll be fun! You won’t even have to do much, just let me stand right behind you with my teeth at your neck! Fun, right?”

“Why the hell would I think that’s fun? Who even thinks that’s fun?!”

“Of course it’s fun, you just –”

“Did you…were you awake the whole night last night?” Flug cut her off. He stared, concerned, at the impressive dark circles under her eyes.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous,” Dementia turned her head away from him, mashing one cheek into the padded floor. “You’re just projecting your problems on me.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re sleep deprived, Dementia.” He twisted sideways to look at her face again. “Were you just too excited to sleep?”

“That was, that was part of it, yeah…” The inmate trailed off, eyes not meeting her doctor’s. She wilted just a bit. 

“Do you want to tell me the other part?”

“I…” She chewed her lip. “I just had a nightmare, is all. It wasn’t that bad. I’m fine.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

Dementia only looked away, so Flug laid back down so she was on his right side. He gestured for Martin to do the same on his left side. The intern complied, and the three of them stayed there silently for a solid minute before their patient spoke again. 

“There were birds.” Her head was hidden by her hair. Flug couldn’t see her expression.

“Birds? Like domestic birds?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Dementia turned to look at him. “Someone shot them and it hurt.”

“Hurt you? It hurt you to watch them get shot?”

“It hurt,” she repeated. Her eyes unfocused. “It really hurt.”

“Okay. Okay, I understand. Dreams aren’t fun.” He backed off. “So, I only caught about half of what you were saying earlier, after you tackled me so nicely.”

“Heh, yeah, I should be a football player.”

“But I _did_ catch that you wanted to be let out, and I can tell you right now that’s not gonna happen.”

“What?!” She jolted up. “Why not?”

“First of all, because I would probably lose my job regardless of whether you escaped or I let you out. You’re my patient and the institute doesn’t take that kind of thing lightly. Second, I’m starting to realize that I’m probably not going to do any actual pranking. My office is in the opposite direction of Bautista’s, I’d have no reason to be anywhere near his door.”

Martin sat up at this, and both teenagers stared at Flug in disbelief.

“So, you’re gonna…are you calling it off?” The intern stammered out.

“No I’m not, especially since your friends are still coming and probably have something planned.” He reached up and tugged at his bag. “But I don’t think I’ll really be much help. I had some ideas, sure, but there’s not a way for me to carry them out without getting caught. Or at least without becoming a suspect. I really, _really_ didn’t think this through enough.”

“No, you really didn’t.” Dementia said, bouncing one knee against the floor. “So now what? I can’t call off my buddy either, it’s too short notice. He’ll be pissed and I’ll be out of a favor. That’s gonna suck.”

“You don’t need to call anything off,” Martin declared suddenly. He shrank a little when the other two looked his way. “I mean, your biggest problem is that you can’t do anything directly, right? So just…tell me what you wanted to do. I can relay it to my friends. They’ve probably figured a plan out, they’re really excited for this.”

Flug tapped at one corner of his headwear. “Are you sure? You realize that if someone gets caught, it’ll most likely fall on you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” the intern straightened his back. “But I trust my friends. They’ll figure out a way, they always do, and they won’t rat me out. And besides, I’m really sick of that guy pushing me around. Pushing us around. I can do this.”

They watched him quietly, but Martin locked his jaw and did his best to look more confident than he felt. Dementia was satisfied first, because she snorted and scooted over to him like a snake.

“Congrats, pal, you’re officially a delinquent. Welcome to the delinquent club.”

The psychiatrist continued to stare at his intern. His goggles betrayed no emotion. Then he gave a longsuffering sigh and reached for his forgotten clipboard. 

“Well, now that we’ve decided to throw ourselves to the wolves together, how about we get on with this therapy session like normal doctors and patients, yeah? Dementia, was it just the dream that unsettled you or was there anything else keeping you awake?”

…

At the end of the session, Martin trailed behind his supervisor all the way back to Flug’s office. Neither one spoke beyond a few questions and answers about interacting with inmates. At his door, the psychiatrist turned and appraised his intern one more time. 

“I’m not kidding about this, you know. Best case scenario if you get caught, you’ll lose this job. Maybe be barred from working here. Worst case is that you get sued. Or arrested on vandalism charges. I really don’t know what else to say.”

“I, I get it.” Martin said, clenching his hands. “But I’m in this all the way, Dr. Slys. I won’t let you down.”

That expressionless look came back over Flug’s face. A closed-off, calculating demeanor that made the teenager shiver for a reason he couldn’t place.

“Alright then. See you in the aftermath.” 

Flug disappeared into his office without another word.  
.  
.  
.  
_12:00_

Martin sat at an open desk in the front lobby and pretended to work on his paperwork. His hand gripped a shaking pen, and he stared down at words that hadn’t made sense for over ten minutes. He couldn’t back out now. The group would be here any minute and _he couldn’t back out now._

The front doors opened with a rush of crowd conversations, making the intern jump and nearly snap his pen. He watched as a solid twenty to thirty college students came into the building all at once, abuzz with excitement. There was a professor and a teaching assistant leading them.

Someone in a navy ballcap met Martin’s gaze, his eyes widening in recognition. Martin pursed his lips and shook his head just a little. The last thing he needed was for his coworkers to realize that he knew anyone in the group.

Then three people in institute uniform came out of another door to the right, and stepped up to the tour group with professional smiles. One of them was a woman Martin didn’t know. Another was Dr. Rorschach herself.

The third was Bautista.

“Hello, students of Ituriel University! I’m proud to welcome you here at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane. I’m Dr. Lauren Rorschach, head director of this institute, and…”

Martin zoned out of the director’s speech, choosing instead to scan the crowd for other familiar faces. The one in the navy ballcap – that was Sidney, he realized – had grouped up with four others, who were alternating between staring around the lobby and staring at Martin. He risked tapping the pen to his lips, once, twice, and they got the message quick enough.

Eventually Dr. Rorschach beckoned towards another door, and the tour group followed close behind. Martin waited until everyone was gone before standing up swiftly and gathering his paperwork in his arms. He entered through the same door and kept pace about four meters behind the students, scanning blankly over the top page in his stack and acting all the world like he wasn’t paying attention.

The group turned the corner, but when the intern followed he nearly smacked headfirst into Sidney, who grinned and didn’t say a word. Martin peered over his shoulder and saw that Bautista had stopped the tour in front of his own office door, explaining what was required of the psychiatrists when they weren’t actively working with patients.

Sidney took an easy step backwards, closer to Martin, and his four friends shifted towards the back of the group at the same time. The teenager’s eyes darted to each of them. John, Esmerelda, Abdullah, and Leslie.

“Hey,” Sidney whispered, smile in his greeting. “That’s the guy, right?”

“Yeah, and his office.” Martin whispered back. “My boss said he can’t help you directly. Sorry.”

“Eh, I figured.” The student’s mouth quirked as if he found everything very amusing. “Anything we need to know?”

“You’re visiting a group session at some point, and I’ve got word that someone there’s gonna help you. Don’t know how. Also, my boss said no property damage, he’s worried about vandalism charges.”

“Cool. I’m sure something’ll come up. You better clear out before they see you.”

“Good luck,” Martin said as he swiveled the other way. His four other friends all gave their own smiles or nods, silent as phantoms.

They could do this. He trusted his friends, and Flug trusted him. He just needed to go about his day, and stay away from the tour group, and wait for news. His stomach roiled with stress, but he squashed it down and buried his mouth against his workload. They smelled strongly of paper and ink, and Martin wondered if Flug smelled something similar with the bag over his face.

He shook his head and continued on his way. No one noticed he’d ever been there.  
.  
.  
.  
_14:30_

The tour was set up to go for nearly four hours. They visited the indoor gym, the outdoor gardens, the medical ward, the empty orientation rooms on the first floor. They stopped for lunch at 13:30 in the staff break room, eating and talking and chattering over the impressive facility. 

Abdullah mentioned how the office hallways all led to either the front lobby or the break room, and how interesting that set-up was. Leslie guessed it was probably an easy escape route if an inmate got out and came after anyone. John thought it was dumb, that it was more of a maze than a real floor plan. Esmerelda didn’t say anything.

Sidney just grinned.

At 14:30, Dr. Bautista and his associate came back in and announced that Dr. Rorschach wouldn’t be joining them on the remainder of the tour due to a meeting with another psychiatrist. He then announced that the institute had given them permission to show the students a group arts-and-craft session for less dangerous inmates. It would be starting very soon, so everyone needed to pack up their food and grab their stuff. 

The session was held on the second floor, which meant that each student had to have their body scanned for metal objects and their backpacks searched for suspicious items. Nothing could be allowed that might give an inmate a chance for, well, anything. 

Over twenty of the students had writing utensils, rulers, and various other sharp objects that couldn’t be taken upstairs, but none of them wanted to leave their bags out in the open, too used to guarding their things from potential thieves on-campus. So the institute staff compromised and took everyone’s stuff back to the break room, which was locked from the outside and safe from harm until the tour came back.

By the time everything was sorted out, it was 15:11 and they were running late to the group session.

Dr. Bautista, thoroughly irritated by the hold up and lack of foresight, hurried the group upstairs to a large room guarded by three men in security outfits. He turned around to address the tour before they went inside.

“I don’t need to remind any of you that being in this room is a privilege. You are all very young, but you’re also psychology students from Ituriel University, which means that I expect you to do exactly as I tell you without argument. Do not interact with any of the inmates unless we explicitly say it is okay. Do not approach an inmate unless we say it is okay. Do not do or say anything in this room, _unless we say it is okay._ Do I make myself clear?”

There was a various assortment of verbal assent from the students, and Dr. Bautista turned around without acknowledging it. Near the back of the group, Leslie rolled her eyes and whispered, “what a douche”, just quiet enough that the tour leaders in front couldn’t hear it.

Half the students snickered.

Everyone sobered up quickly, however, as they stepped through the doorway. About eight long tables were in the room, lined so that four of them ran parallel to the other four. Inmates sat with simple crafting tools – nothing sharp or hot – and were working quietly amongst themselves. Twelve guards lined the walls. 

Dr. Bautista walked up to the nearest table and looked down at the beaded necklace a patient was making. He murmured something to the man, whose face tightened but didn’t stop working. The group watched quietly as their tour leader faced them.

“As you can see, the patients here are very well-behaved. Most of them have either been on the 2nd floor for their entire incarceration, or they have been rehabilitated enough that their privileges extend to having session on this floor. But at any time, that privilege can be revoked. We, as psychiatrists, are here to make sure that these patients will not be a danger to themselves or others, and offering incentive to change is one of our tried-and-true methods of rehabilitation.”

As he spoke, an inmate from two tables down stood up with a jar in his hands. He was a giant, burly man with a bull tattoo visible all the way up his arm. He shuffled in the direction of the group with his head down and eyes on the jar he held. 

Esmerelda stiffened where she stood, watching the man. Sidney glanced her way, then coolly set his eyes to Dr. Bautista, whose back was turned to the patient coming their way. None of the guards seemed concerned by the man’s behavior – he looked only as if he was going to refill his art supplies. 

But then, less than two meters away from the oblivious psychiatrist, the inmate suddenly took a few giant strides and lifted his jar high above Bautista’s head. Security shouted to warn about the threat but it was too late. 

Sparkling pink glitter fell from the upturned container like fairy dust, covering Bautista with a shower from hell. He spluttered and staggered forward as the glitzy stuff got into his eyes and mouth, just in time to miss three guards grabbing at the inmate, who calmly dropped the glitter jar and held his hands above his head. 

The other patients burst out laughing as one unit, cheering and whistling at the bizarre sight of a sparkling, stumbling psychiatrist who left a literal trail of pink glitter in the air behind him as he moved. The tour professor looked horrified, and his teaching assistant had clapped a hand to her mouth to keep her snort to herself. The students had no such qualms about hiding their amusement.

Everyone was ushered out of the room and downstairs in a heartbeat by several red-faced guards while the rest tried to sort out the chaos.

Sidney tilted his head to the left as the tour group was pushed back into the staff break room. A guard apologized and asked for patience, and promised that once things were straightened out, then the tour would go on as usual. She pointed to an opposite door – also the same door that led to the staff offices – and reminded them that restrooms were in that direction. The professor followed her out, arguing about wasting valuable time and asking what the head director could possibly be doing that was more important than the pandemonium going on right now.

Soon it was just the students and the teaching assistant, and Sidney tilted his head to the right, catching the eyes of his friends. He smiled with all of his teeth. Someone smirked in reply.

They had work to do.  
.  
.  
.  
_15:00_

When Flug stepped into Dr. Rorschach’s office, she had already set up the video call on her computer, and was waiting at her desk with her hands folded over a pencil and paper.

“Not one second too late or too early as usual, Doctor. Your dedication to punctuality is amazing.” She said pleasantly, gesturing for him to sit in the chair next to her. He wasted no time in doing so.

Inspector Daniels stared at both of them from the screen. Only his top half was visible, and he wore the same Interpol uniform from the day Flug had met him, back when this entire fiasco had started. 

It felt like months ago.

“Dr. Slys,” the Inspector nodded cordially. He glanced down at something unseen, then lifted his gaze back up. “Before we begin, I have to ask if either of you have any cellular devices or anything that can be used to record conversations.”

Flug blinked twice, then pulled out his phone from his coat pocket. Dr. Rorschach brought out two phones and then opened a drawer, out from which came a walkie-talkie. They placed all the tech on the desk.

“Is that everything?” Daniels asked. They both nodded. “Alright. Now I must ask you to turn them all off, please. This meeting is confidential.”

The doctor did so easily, but his boss’ face became pinched. 

“With all due respect, Inspector, these devices ensure that my employees can contact me in times of emergencies. I can turn off some of them, not all of them. I have to be available for any situation.”

“I understand your position, Dr. Rorschach,” the inspector said smoothly. “But you also have to understand that, again, this meeting is confidential, and Interpol cannot risk having information leak through. We cannot even have the potential of a leak. I’m sure you realize how dangerous this individual is.”

They stared at each other, with narrowed eyes and set jaws, until Dr. Rorschach relented and switched off all three devices. Daniels made a ‘hmm’ noise and looked down again. 

“Are there any audio or visual recording devices set up in this room, such as a security camera?”

“No,” the director said, completely honest. “I don’t require staff to have cameras in their personal offices. Nothing is in this room that could compromise or record our conversation.”

“Good, good.” The inspector studied Flug a moment. “How have you been, Dr. Slys? I received your report and was pleased that you hadn’t, ah…sustained any major injuries yet.”

Flug tactfully ignored the tacked on ‘yet’ and sat back in his chair. “I’ve been well, thank you. Progress with the patient has been slow, but so far every encounter has been meaningful, even if it doesn’t appear that way to the naked eye.”

 _Or to me,_ he thought, _considering how much I’ve been pissing Black Hat off lately._

“I’m aware you were the one who requested this meeting, correct? May I ask why?”

“I was,” Flug considered his words. “I was under the impression that the patient’s collar was a shock collar, from the…way he has reacted sometimes when it beeps. But recently I was in a conversation with a member of our security force who implied that, that Black Hat has…supernatural powers? And that his collar b-blocks it somehow?”

Daniels’ face didn’t change from its stony neutrality, so Flug continued.

“So whatever the case, I – it would help me greatly if I understood exactly what I’m working with. Lowering potential for a leak.”

The inspector remained quiet, and Flug exchanged a confused glance with his director. But as he opened his mouth to ask another question, the Interpol officer cut him off.

“Have you ever seen the aftermath of one of Black Hat’s crimes?”

Flug’s mouth clicked shut. He thought about the report on the last psychiatrist who had tried to work with Black Hat. The visuals made him shudder.

“Yes, I have.”

“I’m not talking about the photos from the case file we sent you, Dr. Slys. I’m asking if you’ve ever seen what happens after that creature decides to go on a rampage.”

“I…no. I haven’t.”

“I thought as much,” Daniels looked at both of them. “Did you know that Black Hat once killed fifteen American SWAT members in less than a minute?”

No, he didn’t know that.

“Are you aware that after he did so, Black Hat then proceeded to phase through the wall of a nearby government building and decapitated five United Nations representatives in a single instant?”

No, he wasn’t aware of that, either.

“Do you know how we know he did it?” The inspector leaned forward. “The SWAT team carried body cameras. That government building contained state of the art surveillance. Everything glitched out in his presence. The only reliable video footage was near the end of the killing spree, when Black Hat reverted to the form you know him as, and the cameras came back online just in time to catch him straightening his tie. Do you want to know how we know he did everything else I mentioned?”

_No, no, I don’t want to know. But tell me anyway._

“Because of the blood. The clearing where the SWAT team was stationed looked like the filming site for Saw VII. They were torn apart like nothing we had ever seen before. We know Black Hat phased through the wall because he left a blood trail that couldn’t phase with him, so it left a near-perfect replica of his silhouette against the vertical concrete. We know he killed the UN representatives at the exact same time because our forensics team found matching rates of body cooling and lack of blood coagulation in all five bodies.”

Dr. Rorschach was white. Flug’s hands clenched at his lab coat under the desk.

“I’m not a religious man, Dr. Slys, but I can say openly and honestly that whatever that creature is, it’s not Earthly. That collar around his neck is the only thing keeping him here. Forget the straitjacket, forget the reinforced titanium walls, the guns, the guards. Those are just precautions to keep him at bay as an almost-human thing. Because without that collar, everything else means jack shit.”

“So h-how,” Flug managed, “how does the collar do it?”

“I’ll tell you, both of you, but I need to remind you that what I say in this room stays one hundred percent confidential. Don’t tell security. Don’t tell the other psychiatrists. Don’t tell your friends or family members. No one. The last thing we need is for this science to be replicated by anyone with more dubious morality. Or worse, for Black Hat to learn any more about it than he already knows.”

Flug looked down at the pencil and empty sheet of paper he had brought for this meeting. Slowly, he crumpled it into a ball and dropped it into the waste basket by the desk. Daniels gave him a tight smile.

“Alright then. This collar is state of the art technology. You’ve probably noticed how bulky it is, right? That’s because of its contents. It’s programmed to measure body mass.”

“I’m sorry, what? Body mass?” Flug felt his brow visibly furrow.

“That’s what I said. Down to the picogram. And it’s not like those high school chemistry scales either. It doesn’t get altered by movement, or, say, if someone set an iron ball in Black Hat’s hands. It’s programmed to his body mass only, in as near as accurate as we can get. You see, most people have their own body mass, and it can be altered only with layers of clothing, or changes in weight or height. Black Hat’s body doesn’t adhere to those rules. 

“When he shapeshifts, or phases through things, that’s what changes his body mass. It shouldn’t, it goes against almost every physics law we know, but that’s what it does. That collar acts as two things. The part around his neck measures his body mass, and it keeps the thing in place so he can’t jolt it. The bulkier part, in the back? It contains a needle that’s connected directly to his spinal cord.”

“What?! Isn’t that, doesn’t that violate his rights?”

“That creature doesn’t have rights.” Daniels replied, eyes grim. “He doesn’t have an age or origin we can track, he holds no citizenship that we know of, and any rights he might have been able to claim have been tossed out the window for decades now, with his criminal record.”

“This is insane,” Flug said aloud, slumping in his seat. “This is absolutely insane. Shit…”

“I’m going to continue, if you don’t mind.” The inspector didn’t wait for their confirmation. “As I said, it’s connected into his spinal cord at the base of his neck. If and when the collar recognizes a change in body mass, no matter how small, that needle is automatically plunged deeper, which cuts off his ability to move or feel most of his body. It usually only lasts about ten seconds, but we know from experience that if need be, the paralysis effect can stay upwards of six hours.”

Flug grit his teeth. “So, d-did you just provoke him into trying to attack you after the ten seconds were up?” 

“No, of course not,” Daniels looked mildly smug. “We have a remote device that can increase the time span of how long the needle remains injected.”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t you use it during his transfer to this institute?” Dr. Rorschach asked coldly. “If I recall, one Interpol officer’s life was at stake in a confrontation between you and Black Hat. Not to mention, letting Dr. Slys walk into his cell without this device to back him up seems extremely negligent.”

“It was your decision to allow Dr. Slys to do so, Dr. Rorschach.” The inspector replied, eyes narrowed. “In fact, you assured me he was well equipped to handle this creature. If anyone can be accused of negligence, it would be you and your institute, wouldn’t you say?”

“You still haven’t answered either of my questions, Inspector.”

Daniels sighed. “I was worried Black Hat would kill someone, to be frank. The last time we used this device, it was simply to test that it worked, and after the trial was over Black Hat went into a frenzied rage, without setting off the collar, that killed three soldiers. It was by this we learned that the only way the device worked was if Black Hat had already set off the collar on his own. Our scientists are still trying to fix this issue, but we think it might be related to the effect he has on technology in general, especially radio waves and cameras.”

Dr. Rorschach and Inspector Daniels continued discussing this problem, and what could be done to fix it, but Flug had stopped listening. Because he was still hung up on that little detail about being stripped of your free will for six hours.

 _No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it,_ the psychiatrist realized. _What a horrible, humiliating thing to have to deal with every day. I’d be pissed too._

He looked over to his boss, who was still arguing with the inspector that having the defective remote was better than having nothing at all. Flug didn’t really care either way; he had gotten this far without getting mauled, he’d be fine for a while longer. And the idea of having such a twisted little thing in his pocket when he visited Black Hat was making him feel sick.

“Excuse me? Inspector Daniels?” The doctor asked, getting the attention of both superiors. “You, uh, mentioned that Black Hat doesn’t know everything about the collar. How much _does_ he know?”

“Not enough to be dangerous,” Daniels said. “He knows that it’s a restraining device, and he knows about the needle because he can feel it in his spine. I have no doubt he’s figured out that it’s related to activating his powers, although we never explained that to him. And I’m almost certain he doesn’t know about the remote control’s restrictions. We’re very lucky that Black Hat has never been well-versed in technology.”

Flug’s hands twitched. “Thank you, Inspector. I’ll be sure to u-use this knowledge carefully and to the best of my ability from now on. I’m afraid I have other things to attend to today. Is there anything else you needed to tell me?”

Daniels shook his head, and Flug thanked him again before getting up on unsteady feet. Dr. Rorschach stared up at him, obvious protest in her face, but he just shook his head.

“I’m sorry for leaving so soon, but I think there’s not much more I can learn from this meeting. If you come to a decision about me receiving the controller, then please let me know when you can.”

“Actually,” the inspector said, looking down again. “My time is about up for now as well. Dr. Rorschach, I feel that you and I can continue this conversation at a later date. You seem to have things handled well over there, and your psychiatrist doesn’t appear concerned. I’ll bid you both adieu. Dr. Rorschach, Dr. Slys.”

With that, Daniels cut the transmission and left Lauren fuming and Flug in deceptive silence. Without a word both of them turned on their phones again, and the director made a surprised noise that had her employee look her way.

“What’s the matter?”

“There’s been a situation on the 2nd floor, come with me.”

So he went with her, and stayed quiet as she called someone while they walked.

“This is Dr. Rorschach, I just finished with my meeting, what’s – what? Slow down! Bautista was attacked by an inmate?”

That had both of them halting in their tracks. Flug stood awkwardly as his boss listened to a voice he couldn’t make out. Then she snapped “I’ll be right there” and hung up the phone.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

“An inmate assaulted Dr. Bautista during the university tour, and they’ve been trying to get ahold of me for over half an hour. Supposedly it was Inmate #244, real name unknown, alias Metauro. He dropped a ‘glitter bomb’ on our coworker while he was showing the arts and craft room to the tour group.”

“O-Oh? That’s b-bizarre.”

“It’s about to get more bizarre, because while he went home to change, someone wrecked his office.”

Flug tripped on air and nearly faceplanted. “I’m sorry, wrecked his office?!”

“That’s what I’ve been told. Security hasn’t figured out who did it yet.” Dr. Rorschach’s heels clicked on the flooring with urgency. “They think it might have been some of the students, but haven’t found any evidence yet.”

“Ah, okay, uh…why am I coming?”

“Because you have an amazing eye for detail, Doctor, so you’re going to help security comb through the wreckage while I talk to people.”

Too soon they were at Bautista’s open door, where several guards were standing, taking pictures and arguing with each other about being lax on security. Everyone stepped to attention when they saw the head director.

“Dr. Slys, do whatever you need in here. Take pictures, ask around, anything. Try not to disturb the scene too much but otherwise I’m giving you free reign until I can find our chief of security.” She peered into the room and her face went carefully blank. 

“What? Is it bad?” Flug was really, really hoping it wasn’t too bad.

“Huh,” Dr. Rorschach said. “Well, now I know why they think it was the students.”

She turned around and grabbed the nearest guard, dragging him with her in whatever direction the students were in. Flug headed to Bautista’s door and was very grateful that the noise he made sounded like shock.

The office wasn’t wrecked as he’d feared. Instead, blank lined paper balls covered the floor, leaving no trace of carpet anywhere. A lamp near the left corner had its shade switched out with the waste basket. A bookshelf on the right had its contents rearranged so that the first letters of several titles spelled out the word ‘asshole’ in a more subtle but still noticeable message.

The window was filled with sharpie penises and the Cool S, making it extremely difficult to see in or out. The computer had been covered by the waste basket’s liner. There was a single piece of paper on the desk with something written on it, so Flug waded into the room to look at it.

_Beautiful Bautista Bastard_

Underneath that was a rushed sketch of a tall man wearing a tutu, with fairy wings and a glowing wand. Small penciled dots littered the page behind the man and the doctor snorted as he realized it was supposed to represent fairy dust. Or whatever that ‘glitter bomb’ had been.

Without blinking, Flug took his phone out and held down the camera button. He panned around the office from the left to the right, making sure to catch everything. His boss had told him to take pictures, so he was taking pictures.

She’d never said he couldn’t keep them. She’d also never said he couldn’t show them to two certain someones.

Really, he was just doing his duty.  
.  
.  
.  
(And maybe Black Hat would have some input to give as well)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy it's out! Sorry for the delay, this was a doozy of a chapter and some of the scenes weren't coming out like I wanted them to. I hope you all enjoy this update, because there are some important info drops here. Sounds like Flug is more concerned about Black Hat's rights than his own safety, hmhmhm.
> 
> Question time! Are you horror fans (movies, games, etc) or not so much? I know this is the Villainous fandom, but I'm actually a giant chicken when it comes to scaring myself. I hate horror. Disturbing themes, body horror, dark subjects? I'm fascinated by them, but get too far into jumpscare/general horror and I tap out real fast. I like thinking about/writing/discussing these kinds of things. I don't like seeing them.


	22. Wants and Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a goal in mind.

In the end, they couldn’t pin the prank on anyone. Too many students, too few indicators of who might’ve done it, and not enough disturbance to really be considered vandalism. To make up for the lack of arrests and accountability, the tour group was forced to leave immediately, and as they left the building their professor vowed to make the rest of the term a living hell for everyone.

Dr. Rorschach considered that justice enough, and Flug was inclined to agree with her. Bautista didn’t share the same sentiment. 

“This is bullshit,” he announced two hours later in the security room. He, Flug, and their supervisor were watching the footage of Metauro dumping his glitter load all over the unsuspecting psychiatrist.

“Um, when you say that, were you referring to the situation, o-or the inmate with the bull tattoo?” Flug asked innocently, hands in his coat pockets. He was in a wonderful mood.

Bautista shot him a dirty look and gestured at the screen. Pink sparkles still fluttered at the movement. “All of it, dammit! How can we just let them walk away like that? I want to press charges!”

“There’s not enough evidence for us to do so, Doctor.” Rorschach responded coolly. She tapped manicured nails against her glasses, watching the footage with a barely-there glint of amusement.

“We’re a goddamned criminal institute! There has to be some way to make this stick to those kids,” the irate man growled. “I’m not letting a group of delinquents get off scot-free and just go on like nothing happened. They’ll just go on and do it again to some other innocent guy. Perpetuate the cycle.”

“I think you’re using that phrase out of c-context, Doctor,” Flug let his tongue loose. He couldn’t help himself. “And they’re not going unpunished, you heard their professor.”

“I don’t want their _class_ ruined, Slys, I want their chance at this kind of _future_ ruined.” Bautista folded his arms and glared at his boss. “Well? Are you on my side or not? That’s my workspace, I can’t work properly if it’s wrecked.”

“Of course I’m on your side, Dr. Bautista,” Rorschach said, still playing with her glasses. “And rest assured, I’ve already got people cleaning up your office. There’s no need to worry, I’m taking care of it.”

The taller man’s face contorted like he very much didn’t believe her, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Instead, he turned back to the security footage.

“Fine. Whatever. What are we gonna do about this inmate then? He assaulted me.”

Flug rolled his eyes under his bag.

“He’s been placed in a solitary cell for now, on Floor 4,” the director replied. “I’m planning to talk to his psychiatrist about his recent behavior and see if we can pinpoint why he lashed out like this. I’ve read his file, he’s been fairly docile and well-behaved up until now.”

“I want to be there for that conversation,” Bautista threatened, picking out glitter that was clinging in his lab coat. “And I want to decide how to deal with the inmate.”

“You are completely welcome to join us, Doctor, but as far as ‘dealing with the inmate’ goes, please remember that we are a professional institute. He’ll face consequences for his actions but we aren’t inhumane.”

“Bullshit, all of this,” the psychiatrist swore again under his breath. He spun around and stalked out of the room, calling over his shoulder to get the last word in. “Mark my words, Dr. Rorschach, we’re getting lax here about discipline and it’s going to cost someone. Mark my words. I’m going home to get this shit out of my clothes.”

“Leave is granted,” Dr. Rorschach said quietly as the door slammed shut, fully aware the man couldn’t hear her anymore. She looked over to Flug, who was staring at the footage and trying to figure out if he could sneak off with a copy.

“Dr. Slys?”

“Hmm, what?” He snapped to attention, embarrassed.

“I appreciate your help, but I think I can handle it from here. You’re free to go if you wish.”

“Ah, o-okay. I’ll just do that then. Have a – good luck with everything.” Flug gave one more glance to the video monitor in an attempt to memorize Bautista’s stunned face, then headed out the same way his colleague had left. 

It was getting late and a lot of people were clocking out for the day or clocking in for the night. The psychiatrist wavered in the hallway, unsure of what to do. He knew what he _wanted_ to do, of course. He wanted to find Martin, and Dementia, and share the pictures he’d taken. He wanted to see Bautista struggle and curse as he tried to wipe out all traces of glitter from his body – no doubt a feat that would take days. He wanted…

He saw Susie leaving the front lobby.

An image flashed in his head, of her shivering and distraught after being cornered by someone much bigger than herself, of the familiar haunt of her face as she fled two days before. 

Flug knew what he wanted to do first. He barely caught her just as she was heading into the staff parking lot. 

“Susie, w-wait up!” The psychiatrist called out, trying not to trip himself over the sidewalk. Susie stopped and turned around in surprise.

“Dr. Slys?” She asked, clearly perplexed by his behavior. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes – I mean, uh, just wait a second,” Flug caught up to her and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He was pathetically out of shape. “I wanted to, hang on….okay. I wanted to apologize properly, for the other day. That was really, really not okay.”

She stared at him. “Are you talking about Tuesday?” At his nod, she clenched one hand. “Oh. Well, thank you, Doctor, but that really wasn’t your fault. Dr. Bautista is responsible for his own actions. I’m not – I’m fine now.”

He made eye contact with the nurse, who averted her gaze with her lips pursed. “Oh. I just thought, maybe. Um, I’m not making you u-uncomfortable right now, am I?”

“No, Doctor,” Susie said reassuringly. “If I was uncomfortable, I’d let you know. Don’t worry.”

“Okay. That’s, that’s good then.”

They stood there in awkward silence for a minute, thinking about what to say, both trying to look at each other without giving it away. The nurse cracked first.

“Do you want to meet up this weekend? For, coffee or something?”

Flug blinked. “Uh…”

“I was just thinking that we didn’t, really get the chance to talk on Tuesday like I’d hoped to.” She clasped her hands together at her hips. “That is, if you’re alright with it. I know you’re not fond of socializing with coworkers.”

“I’m not – what? What gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know, you’re always just so busy, you know? And I don’t – I mean, it seems like you never want to stay for lunch or after hours. It’s, uh,” Susie looked away, “there’s actually a bit of a bet among some of the nurses that you don’t like people very much.”

_Well they’re not wrong,_ he thought wryly. Out loud, he attempted damage control. “I don’t mean to be rude, I just, get so focused on my work that I lose track of time. I’m not – I won’t bite, Susie.”

“That’s a relief, I guess,” the nurse smiled just a little bit. “So, um, do you want to meet up sometime this weekend? It doesn’t have to be for long, we don’t have to get coffee either. If you want to.”

Flug considered her, considered her offer. He thought about all the stress these last two weeks, from coworkers and circumstance and certain inmates. It had been a long time since he’d really gone anywhere that wasn’t job-related. And it had been even longer since he’d allowed himself to do anything but work, and plan, and stress. 

“You know what? That’d be great, actually.” The psychiatrist said, tilting his head. “I’d love to get together for coffee. I’m pretty free on Saturday, do you have someplace in mind?”

So they made plans for Saturday and parted ways, and Flug felt a little lighter than he’d felt in weeks. There was nothing wrong with treating himself, he decided. Especially not when the prank had gone so smoothly.

_It’s great to be back in the game,_ was the thought that flitted through his mind as he left for the day.

Flug didn’t correct it.

...

Friday came agonizingly slow, like the unassuming growth of a blister when one knows it’s happening but can’t take the time to falter in their pace in life. It pissed me off.

I had worked out my thoughts Wednesday night, yes, but that also left the entirety of the next day to sit and do nothing while I waited for my next unfortunate session with _dear doctor Flug_. There was one moment of that day, however, when one of my guards were made to leave their post by unseen circumstances for over an hour. He came back snickering and the two of them got to gossiping happily about some event with an inmate on a lower floor. I was almost tempted to snap at them for not giving me my due attention.

But I endured. 

As one could imagine if they had any intelligence, Thursday evening was used to meditate. I needed – no, I wanted, I had no need of anything – to prepare myself for the inevitable indignity of either seeing Flug again, which would make him an idiot, or never seeing him from now on, which would make him a coward. 

Human hypocrisy is so tiring.

In any case, I had plans for both outcomes, and as Friday arrived like the pop of that blister, I waited for our scheduled session to see what I’d be working with. It wasn’t long I had to do so.

The Dusk hit me all in a rush; someone was coming down the hallway towards my cell, and it seemed they had been very busy in the sinister aspects of life. I recognized very well who it belonged to, but it puzzled me greatly. I hadn’t seen Flug in two days, after I’d promised him his death, and there was surely no chance he had been so busy during that time to create such an enticing aura. 

So when Flug unlocked the door and stepped inside, I studied his body language for signs of distress. He was…conflicted. There was clear fear in his visage at the sight of me, and his bodyguard was right by his side with a taser in hand. He watched me, the way I perched on my mattress, and I could see the chill go up his spine like a feather. 

But there was also a looseness in his limbs that baffled me; a drop to his shoulders that suggested relaxation instead of resignation. And of course his Dusk, which swelled as we made eye contact. It gave him away completely, yet what it was that he gave I was not yet certain of.

Curious and unforgiving, I let him take the first move to dig his own grave even further. He obliged.

“Before we d-do anything else, I th-think we need to talk about, what happened. On Wednesday.” Flug stood by the door and kept my gaze. His body was tense in preparation for an attack. 

I lifted one eyebrow but didn’t reply, waiting for the fool to make a deeper hole.

“I’m a-aware that you, um. That you p-probably hate me.”

“Hate has always been an underwhelming word, Flug.”

“Ah, well,” he wavered, “I would – I’m here to inform you that as of n-now, we’re no longer allowing physical c-contact to occur during these, sessions. None at all.”

“For my sake, or for yours?” I watched the way his fingers twitched. “I see. Do continue, Flug.” _Bury yourself alive, dear doctor._

“Also, ah, from now on I’m g-going to stay on one end of th-this room with you on the other, and a guard will b-be next to me at all times. If, if anything compromises that, the session is over and I’ll, leave at once.”

“Is that all you have to say, Flug?”

He regarded me suspiciously. “…Yes.”

“No sincere apology for upsetting me again? You seem so adept at screwing up and then groveling for it.”

I’ll admit that I spat these words for my own angry benefit, not as a verbal attempt to dig into Flug’s skin or a physical attempt to cause him to error and be within death’s reach of my teeth. I was not expecting the flare up of his Dusk, nor the way his goggles reflected the light in a way that I couldn’t see his expression.

“I th-think you’ll be surprised to learn that I won’t, that I’m not g-going to grovel so much anymore. It’s – something I’ve been working on.”

“So it seems.” What had happened in the last two days, I wondered. What had bolstered this human’s confidence and encouraged his darkness when he’d been so determined to squash it down subconsciously. 

I considered my options in this moment. I still very dearly wanted to kill Flug, make no mistake, and it was going to happen one way or another. But then I would be stuck here with no source of amusement until the time of my escape. And from what I had to acknowledge, that could be a very long time from now.

I made a decision then, that would change things in ways that I could not predict. I decided that so long as Flug behaved himself, and did not infuriate me any longer, then I would let him live. I would offer the proverbial olive branch, let him think that I had forgiven him after a time, and then play along with his game so that I could learn his secrets and extort his Dusk. 

And when I was finally free of this accursed collar, free to do as I pleased just as it should be, I would drag Flug to this cell and tear him apart limb from limb, slowly and painfully, and then raze his precious institution to the ground.

Yes, what a satisfying end to my humiliation.

“Well, Flug,” I said at last, ending the silence that had clearly made him nervous. “It’s marvelous to hear you’re no longer such a sniveling infant. Perhaps now you will be tolerable enough to hold a conversation with.”

I felt the flare of Dusk and pride even as Flug gave no physical indication to my insult. It was hilarious. 

“If that w-were the case, Black Hat, then I’m s-surprised you lasted this long. It must h-have been very boring.” The doctor bantered hesitantly.

He had sensed the traitorous olive branch, and was trying to reach for it. I smiled languidly.

“Oh Flug, you have no idea. I’ve had to get by with the meager slivers of intelligence I could find, and unfortunately that means you. It’s amazing I’ve survived.” I held the branch out, easy for him to hold onto.

“Boredom isn’t a c-clinical cause of death.” He touched the offering. “But maybe they’d make an exception f-for you.” He took it.

Flug was mine. 

“No doubt Inspector Daniels would be happy to see me go,” I dropped out of my crouch completely, opting instead to lean causally against the mattress. “I wonder how he’s been doing.”

My doctor just looked at me. I raised an expectant eyebrow, but no obvious tells could be found off his body or his aura. Unfortunate but not problematic.

“Ah well, I don’t care enough about him to want to know. May he drop dead where he stands.” I dropped my neck backwards so my head rested on the mattress and I was staring at the ceiling. “On the topic of health, how have you been these last few days, Doctor?”

I couldn’t see Flug, but I heard his feet shuffle. “I’ve been w-well, Black Hat. Why?”

The tone was so guarded it was amazing the words had made it past his lips.

“Oh, no reason at all, really,” I hummed leisurely. “It just makes my heart happy to know my favorite psychiatrist is in such good condition.”

“I d-doubt that.”

“Doubt what, Flug? That I wonder how you are?”

“That you have a heart in the first place.”

A delighted smile danced along my face. “Look at you, Doctor, trying to learn my anatomy. I thought you were an expert of the mind, not the body?”

There was just enough silence after my statement that I turned my head towards Flug, inquisitive. He had this look in his goggles, one I knew well. It was the look of someone gauging how much information is worth leaking to another.

“You’re right, Black Hat,” he said after a beat. “I’ll just focus on my a-area of expertise.”

Hmm. That was going to have to be a secret for another day, because the doctor’s darkness was still heavy in the air and I was getting restless to learn why. But this mild back-and-forth, as entertaining as it was, would not yield what I wanted. 

I remembered suddenly the commotion with my guards from yesterday, how there’d been an event with an inmate. Perhaps Flug had something to do with it. 

“You know, I’ve been hearing down the grapevine lately,” I said in nonchalance. “That something happened very recently. A situation with a criminal, it appears. Are you aware of it?”

“There was an incident yesterday, yes. Just an inmate who lashed out. That’s all you r-really need to know.” The doctor tugged at his bag, possibly anticipating that I wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer.

I wasn’t, but it was not due to the event itself, which was lackluster at best. It was because I felt that surge in Dusk again. 

“All I need to know? Please, Flug, it sounds as though the ‘incident’ has already come and gone. And besides, what could I do from in this cell? It’s not like I have access to the other inmates in this, place. I imagine it’s nigh impossible from this floor even.”

“You’d be surprised,” came the murmured response as Flug pulled at his bag again. He said a little louder, “it doesn’t matter, it’s imperative that we keep outside contact to a b-bare minimum or there could be chaos.”

His fingers were fiddling with his lab coat, and that creepy tint was back in his goggles. He wanted very much to talk about it. 

“Surely there’s no harm in idle gossip. My guards already partake in it enough as it is.” Flug’s escort huffed air through his nose, and I smirked at him. “Come now, don’t be surprised. The two of you are loud as braying mules when you talk. It’s wonderful how much I’ve learned since yesterday.”

I had not actually been paying enough attention to know what was going on, but it didn’t matter. My bluff worked well, because Flug whirled on his bodyguard.

“What did you tell him?!”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” the escort raised his hands placatingly. “Lucas and I were just talking, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, it’s not – what were you saying to each other?”

“We just talked about how quiet that inmate usually is, and how it’s weird he just attacked Bautista like that. Nothing else!”

Bautista. I knew that name well. And I knew Flug hated him thoroughly.

“Isn’t it strange,” I began, careful not to reveal how little I knew, “that this inmate would do something like this? Such a pliant, goody-two shoes patient who goes berserk on a psychiatrist for no reason. Truly tragic. I wonder if he has permanent scarring.”

“The psychiatrist wasn’t physically harmed,” the doctor asserted, irritation lined through his body. “He’ll be just fine.”

“Well, sure,” the guard said quietly, “but that still had to have been awful. Traumatic, even.”

Flug rolled his eyes.

I blinked, surprised that he’d been bold enough to do the motion here, but then I remembered that humans have such feeble vision. It was no wonder he wasn’t afraid to do it; it was highly probable that no one would know what he was doing beyond those goggles.

Except me.

I was suddenly gleeful – here was the explanation for my doctor’s unusual behavior. He’d been struggling at playing nice with a coworker, wanted some way to get him back without sticking his own neck out. How he persuaded an inmate to do whatever it was to Bautista was still a mystery, but not one that mattered.

What did matter was that it had been pulled off without any suspicion towards this ‘innocent’ human. No doubt it bolstered Flug’s confidence, but even more so I knew why his darkness was a maelstrom today, why it pitched at every little mention of the event, and of me – the only expert of the Dusk on Earth. 

This was wonderful. I had no idea such a sniveling creature was even capable of it, even on such small a scale. How thrilling. How entertaining.

How useful.

I would have continued dwelling on this new insight, except for what happened next.

“Alright, I’m done talking about this. You both n-need to be more careful, honestly,” the doctor pointed at his guard, then up at the ceiling camera. “You’re lucky the audio recorder hasn’t picked up either of you, if you’re doing this so much. It’s not p-professional.”

I stiffened, staring at Flug with the nearest to shock I’d ever show outwardly.

“Audio recorders? Aren’t cameras sufficient enough?” I tried politely, feigning a pout as if upset that there was more to hamper my escape.

“That’s right, v-voice recorders.” The doctor folded his arms, watching me warily. “So don’t – you should watch yourself if y-you know what’s g-good for you.”

I tuned out most of his words. Recorders. Meant to catch sounds and conversations. I had been screaming at that blasted bear neighbor for several evenings now, provoking him and openly expressing intent to harm my doctor when I thought no one else was watching. But someone had been watching, and yet Flug and his guards acted none the wiser to anything. 

My eyes narrowed.

The session went on in contrived pleasantries, and Flug left thinking he was in the clear, or at least that I had no immediate plans to kill him. A half-truth, but one that would benefit me in the long run. It was of little consequence anyway, because I knew now that someone could be aware of what I was doing and hadn’t done anything to stop me. I’d say it was out of the sympathy to my plight, or out of the badness of their hearts, but I did not make a habit of trying to fool myself.

Humans, after all, are only outclassed in their stupidity by their inherent selfishness. 

It was time for a new conversation.

...

It was frustrating to wait for nightfall, and downright torment to sit and play nice until the wretched bear fell asleep in his own cell. I estimated it was close to 2:00 in the morning by the time I made my move. I advanced to the center of the room and stood firmly.

“I want to talk to you.” I spoke into the darkness, loud and clear. “This isn’t a request. I want to know who you are and what you want with me.”

I stayed there immobile for over an hour, eyes trained on the door to my cell. I did not move closer to view the hallway, in case this overseer would feel intimidated and flee. 

Eventually my patience paid off, as a single set of footsteps echoed louder and louder until I could see a silhouette in the window. The sight made me chuckle.

“My goodness,” I purred. “Who would have seen this coming? I must say I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t you.”

The silhouette did not shuffle from my words as I half-expected. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“That’s right, I did.” I inclined my hat, a gesture of courtesy that this human would not recognize. “It’s been brought to my attention that I have you to thank for leaving my nightly discussions a secret, although frankly I can’t imagine why.”

There was no response. Either my question was too subtle or this human had a death wish.

“So I suppose I’d like to know your role in all of this,” I continued, eyes narrowing to show that I expected an answer now.

“It doesn’t matter to you.”

“Oh, oh it doesn’t matter!” I cackled, delightedly provoked. “Of course it doesn’t matter, it’s not as if I’m the most capable force of nature on this abhorrent planet! It’s not as if I’ve been saying incriminating things out loud for you to monitor and report, things that could very well kill Dr. Flug Slys at the least, if not more people! No, it doesn’t matter to me at all!”

I dropped my head to wipe tears of mirth onto my shoulder. Then I looked back up, all pretense of joviality wiped away in the same movement. 

“If it doesn’t matter to me, as you so disrespectfully put it, then I don’t understand why you came here tonight in the first place. If your only purpose is to mock me, human, then you’re going to suffer just as much as the doctor I’ve been placed with. And we both know what I’ve said about that.”

This time I saw the flinch. My mouth split open without humor. 

“Well?”

“I’ve been…testing things out,” the silhouette said not quite tentatively. “Learning what gets noticed and how it’s handled. Little things. Weaknesses.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that without due proof,” I growled. “Why would someone like you want to look for those things, and why would you tell me?”

“Proof,” the human had the audacity to snort. “Isn’t it proof enough that I told you?”

“Only when there’s merit in words, which I’ve found to be most often false in dealing with your species.” 

“That’s a fair point.” The concession was almost bitter. “But I don’t know how else to prove it. You’re…difficult to read, Black Hat.”

“You can prove it by telling me how we’re having this conversation and you’re not afraid of the repercussions of just standing here without authorization.”

“Footage looping.” At my carefully blank stare, the silhouette sighed. “Pre-recorded video footage can be edited over later time stamps so everything looks fine to anyone who watches it later. It takes precision to appear untampered, which is why I took a while in getting up here. So.”

“And you’ve been doing this for all the previous nights? I find it hard to believe a human can stay awake so many hours.”

I watched idly as the tell-tale signs of pride raised itself in the human’s posture. “That’s not the only trick I know, give me some credit.”

“I’d love to give you credit, human, but some things still don’t add up.” I prompted, quiet steel in my voice. “Primarily, I’m curious what you have to gain by doing this. Surely your job is not worth the risks you’re taking.”

It took several seconds for my question to receive a response – almost unforgivable. Finally – “I’m not doing this for you, demon. I meant it when I said it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Except for the part where I’m your test subject in these little experiments.” I dipped my head sideways. “Tell me, is it because I’m in the most secure part of this building and therefore the best place for your tests? Or do you just hate Dr. Slys so much that you’re hoping I’ll succeed in my plans to break him?”

“I –”

_Beep!_

An annoying little alarm went off, and the human brought out a mobile cellular phone to turn it off. 

“I have to go, that means the footage loop is almost done running on its own.” The human pocketed the phone. “I’d ask that you stop plotting so loudly at night, Black Hat, but I know you’ve never listened to humans.”

“And likewise,” I sneered, angry at the time cut short, “I’d ask that you stop involving me whatever trifling plans you’ve concocted in that fragile little skull, but I know your kind is too idiotic to keep to your own business. So we’re at an impasse.”

My overseer took a step away, then hesitated. “You’re not going to tell anyone who I am, are you?”

“No.” I said truthfully. “As much as it pains me to admit, this is useful for both of us. I will not, ‘rat you out’, so to speak, but only if you don’t reveal my intentions to anyone.”

“Good.” And then the human was gone.

I remained where I was, listening to the fading footsteps and the night sounds of crazy inmates dreaming the drugs away. This was a development I had not been expecting, and not one I could control. 

I didn’t like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I live.
> 
> For those not following me on tumblr, basically what happened is my laptop broke at the end of November, with all my WIPs on it. I only got it back in February, and it had all my stuff (including this unfinished chapter) but I hadn't done ANY writing in those months. So I focused on some other things for other fandoms to get my head back in the game.
> 
> I promise I will never abandon this story, no matter how long it takes for an update. This fic is my child I love it with all my heart. Thank you to everyone who's still sticking with me on this! (Also if you see any discrepancies or weird characterization, please let me know. I reread the fic to get into it again but it's been a while and I'm bound to miss details)
> 
> Question time!! How's the weather been for everyone this winter so far?? It's been bipolar where I live, it switches between 3 inches of snow and ice to sunny and bright within 12 hours. It's great. It's not great.


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